The Spaces Between
by Spinner Dolphin
Summary: Tortall has no place for dead Immortals and Earth has no place for the dead, period. The gods are cruel and give no choices, but this time Jack and his new friends might get some help along the way. Sequel to Guardian of the Gates.
1. Prologue

Hello again, everyone, and welcome to The Spaces Between! This is a SEQUEL to Guardian of the Gates – if you have not read that, please do, because this will make very little sense otherwise! This is a crossover between Tamora Pierce's Immortal series and the BBC TV series Torchwood. You could still _probably_ follow it if you know both fandoms, but if you don't then you'll need the background info, all of which is supplied in the narrative in Guardian!

For those of you who are not heeding my warning and are not going to read Guardian, then know this: Here be **SPOILERS **for CoE… although I think at this point, everyone's seen it. Still, best to warn anyway. Also, you're going to get (parts of) the prologue, but after that you'll be very confused; seriously, go read Guardian!

**To all my previous readers**, welcome back! This one has a bit of a different feel to it than Guardian, and you'll be glad to know that the ending is much, much happier! Guardian was mostly a set up for Spaces; things move a bit faster here than in Guardian.

Overarching Disclaimer: Jack, Ianto, Owen, Tosh, Gwen, the Doctor, Rose, weevils in general and any other Torchwood/Doctor Who characters/places/concepts/aliens mentioned belongs to the BBC, not me. Daine, Numair, Kitten, Alanna, George and Tortall, as well as any of the various gods and Immortals (who are not Jack) and concepts from the Immortals series and The Song of the Lioness series belong to Tamora Pierce. The Guardian of the Gates and the Nepthalae are mine, however.

I GIVE YOU…

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**THE SPACES BETWEEN**

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"And you always remember what you kill, don't you, Jack?"

Adam, "Adam"

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_Ianto Jones._

_Mister Ianto Jones, I do believe I have someone you want to see. _

_Won't you wake up?_

_That's it. Come on, now, Ianto Jones. Follow my voice. That's it. I have your Jack Harkness. _

_Yes, Captain Jack Harkness. Your Jack. Follow me, now. Follow me._

…_Jack?_

Ianto Jones, deceased, blinked in the starlight. There were—things, sensations. He was—somewhere. Confused, he smoothed his front and was startled to find that he was still wearing his gray vest. There was grass beneath his feet and stars above his head. Was he in a meadow? What the hell? It was dark, but it was _real _dark, not the dream-dark or the nothing-dark that had happened after Jack had begged him not to go.

"You're kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding," he said to no one in particular. The words whispered out into the warm night, and Ianto reveled in the sensations. Wasn't he supposed to be dead? Hadn't someone said Jack's—

"_Ianto?_" A voice that he had missed dearly rung out. "Ianto!" He turned.

Jack Harkness, in his ever-present greatcoat, was standing there in the night and he was a sight for sore—or, well, dead, anyway—eyes. His dark hair was tousled and his hands greasy, as if he'd been working with machinery all day. Blue eyes were wide and devastated as Jack stared at Ianto with an intensity that drowned out his previous confusion.

"_Jack?_" Ianto breathed, shocked. He made to take a step forward, questions burning in his throat, but an arm stopped him. Ianto blinked again and followed the arm up to a shoulder up to a torso, where he found a hunched old woman with a staff. She had a patch over her eye and a grizzly face, and she radiated power like nothing he had ever seen before.

"Not yet, dearie," she growled at him, and Ianto, vaguely affronted, stared at her. Who the hell was she? "We can make it better, Captain Harkness," she added, gravelly voice persuasive as she looked back at Jack. "We can bring them back. All of them."

What the _hell_?

Another voice broke the silence that followed this proclamation and Ianto turned, startled. There were three people standing beside a fire—how had he not noticed them?—and a woman, lovely with brown curly hair, shouted, "You leave him alone!" Ianto blinked again, realizing that she held something purple and serpentine to her chest. Was that a _dragon_? Where the hell _was_ he? "Don't listen to her, Jack, it isn't permanent," she cried, "The things she brings back to life don't always stay that way!"

Right, well, that answered one question, Ianto thought wryly.

"Daine!" A tall, dark haired man gasped beside her. The woman shot him a fierce look.

"If you weren't a godborn, I'd kill you for that," the old woman said offhandedly, not taking her eyes from Jack. Ianto glanced back at her uneasily, wondering what a godborn was, and musing briefly that it didn't sound good. The old woman had brought him back to life? How? More importantly, _why_? "As it is, I might take your lover instead," the old woman threatened the girl with the dragon, and Ianto saw a short, stocky redheaded woman rest a hand on her hip. Was that a _sword_? "Your Lindhall Reed's little beast remained, did it not? It's the choice of the soul, no one else's."

I'm staying, Ianto thought fiercely, glancing back at Jack, who looked as though his heart was breaking. Oh, Jack, I'm staying. "Don't I have any say in this?" Ianto broke in quietly.

"Ianto," Jack whispered painfully, as though unable to say anything else. Ianto opened his mouth to reply, to try to soothe the broken look that had stolen over his lover's face - oh, Jack, he thought, bloody stupid Jack, who told him _don't_ and Ianto still couldn't help himself - but Jack ripped his eyes away, shaking himself all over and then turning back to the old woman. "What have you done!" he shouted furiously, "What have you _done_ to him? Your Dark God said that you couldn't touch the dead of my world. What the _hell_ have you done?"

She didn't do anything, Ianto thought.

"She said your name," he answered dreamily, and Jack's eyes locked back onto him, burning blue, just like they had been when Ianto had died. "I heard it, so I followed. I thought you might've finally died. I looked for you, you know. I thought… in the spaces between, before you woke up each time. I might be able to see you."

Jack gave him a stricken look. "Ianto," he stuttered, "I'm sorry, I—"

"This isn't fair, goddess," the redheaded woman with the sword standing before the fire broke in quietly. Ianto glanced at her, half annoyed that she'd interrupted Jack, although he could tell by Jack's tone that he wasn't going to say anything helpful anyway.

"It was never a question of fairness, Lioness," the old woman, apparently a goddess, and what the hell, told her simply. "It was a question of—"

"Of manipulation!" Jack interrupted furiously, glaring, and Ianto suddenly understood. He was being used as a bargaining piece, although he didn't know what the bargain was. That woman called Lioness was right, he thought indignantly—this wasn't fair.

"Do not interrupt me, immortal—" Ianto could feel the old woman tensing beside him, and power wrapped around her like a blanket. He reached for his gun, but of course it was not there.

"Ianto, they want me to kill," Jack cried, turning back to him. Ianto's breath, unused for so long (and how long had it been since he'd breathed his last?) caught at the intensity. "They want me to kill a hundred civilians: men, women and children—not human, but not—"

"Then don't do it," Ianto interrupted immediately, locking eyes with Jack's desperate, mourning blue ones. "Don't listen to her, Jack."

"How _dare _you?" the old woman snarled, spinning to face him. The power rippled indignantly behind her, but Ianto was not afraid. "How _dare_ you defy me—"

"I'm not in your jurisdiction," Ianto stated in his best receptionist's voice. I'll tie you up in red tape so tightly you won't be able to _blink,_ he thought viciously; if you think you can manipulate Jack Harkness, then you've never met Ianto Jones. "I came here of my own free will, and I can leave of it as well." He turned back to Jack, and guilt filled him. "I love you. I'm sorry I left."

The goddess released him in disgust, and the world began to darken.

"I miss you," Jack whispered, and Ianto's heart, so long unused to beating and slowing, now, leaped for a moment. "I'm sorry, I—I—"

"It was never your fault, Jack." It was important that Jack knew this - even if Jack was a bastard, even if he'd never loved Ianto, the misery in his eyes was enough. Ianto did not want him suffering, and he did not like the loneliness that came off him in waves. "I'll look for you."

_Darkness. Silence. _

_No. _

_I'll find you._


	2. Chapter 1

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**Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? **

_**Not I,**_** said Slaughter, locked in her kennel. **

_**Nor I,**_** said Malady, barred in his cage. **

_**Nor I, **_**said Starvation, caught in his chains. **

_**And who dares to question me?**_** The Chaos Queen in her cage of dead matter and star fire, stuck until the next star is born, peers out through the bars. **

"I am the Bad Wolf."

**And the cage melts, and Uusoae is free. **

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Numair Salmalin felt as though he'd been kicked by a horse.

Six days ago, he'd expended more magic than he had in ages – not since he'd battled Inar Hadensra in the fields of the Immortals War – to prevent an inevitable lightning strike on a ship made for the air. It hadn't worked, of course, and guilt still sunk somewhere in the pit of his heart. Over a hundred people had died.

Numair sighed. The last few weeks had been interesting, to say the least, and the amount that he'd learned was astounding. Even still, so much death on his shoulders took its toll. He glanced at his friend, Jack Harkness, and wondered how the man coped.

"So explain this thing again," he asked, trying to distract himself.

His friend quirked a reluctant smile as he sat cross legged and fiddled with some sort of contraption salvaged from the ruined ship, a small metal box. "It's food storage," Jack said, looking up. "It creates a force field and then shrinks things down; they used it to keep food fresh. We can use it as a holding cell. Think of it as one of your protection spells, Numair. Like the kind you put around camp." He nodded to the stones that made a large circle around their fire and bedrolls.

Numair looked out and sighed. Beyond his spell was the meadow, and the great, smoking ship and the dead. Jack had rather vehemently forbidden any of them to go inside. He said it was still dangerous, but Numair had a feeling it was because Jack didn't want them to see it. He tracked a lazy curl of smoke as it rose with his eyes. Even after six days, parts of the ship were still burning. They'd done all they could, buried what bodies they could get to, although the number was depressingly small. After six days, it was time to move on; they still had a job to do. Numair sighed and turned back to Jack and his black box.

"But if it's storage for food, how could something live in it?" Numair tilted his head at the small, inconspicuous box. It didn't look like much.

"If I fiddle with it, maybe," Jack replied, carefully pulling at a panel and exposing a net of bright metal that he called _circuitry_ beneath. "But it certainly beats offering up weevils as some sort of sacrifice." He scowled bitterly and Numair winced.

The gods were not pleased. They had been visited by the Graveyard Hag the night before the ship was destroyed, and she had tried to persuade Jack to kill the aliens by bringing back his dead lover, a man called Ianto Jones. Jack had fallen to pieces, but ultimately refused, and let his lover slip back into death. The Graveyard Hag had been furious, and that night the gods had destroyed the ship in a horrific lightning storm that Numair was sure he'd see in his nightmares for years to come. Daine's mentor, the male badger god, had ordered Jack afterwards to find these weevils, creatures from yet another world that were inhabiting the forests on the Great Road East to Galla. Jack was determined that the weevils would not die the way the Nepthalae, the creatures that had lived on the ship, did. Numair had to say he agreed with him.

"I suppose so," Numair replied, craning his neck to see what Jack was doing to the little box. After six days the shock was wearing off and the true horror sinking in, but they had a job to do, and after tonight they were going to make their way to the Great Road East. It was best to begin preparing. "Do you need me to power it?" He felt for his power reserves. He had some, actually, now that he had rested, but a fair amount of it had gone to the protective shielding around their camp site, and he still felt groggy.

"It'd be appreciated," Jack said easily. "Not right now, though." His blue eyes flickered up to Numair and then down to the machine.

"You got that thing working yet?" another voice asked. Numair smiled warmly up at Alanna as she crashed through the trees, bow in hand.

"Any luck with dinner?" he asked, just as Jack shook his head. Alanna held up two rabbits.

"Oh, good," Jack said, putting the machine aside and rising to take them from her, nodding a greeting, "I was just getting hungry. What will Daine eat?"

"More fish," Daine sighed, coming from the other side of camp, Kitten bounding at her heels. Daine set down an armful of firewood as Numair grinned, standing to give her a kiss. Kit squeaked in disgust and trotted over to Jack, who greeted her with a pat on the head when she rose up on her haunches, chattering at him.

"Sorry, dearest," Numair told Daine, releasing her. "When we get to Corus we'll pick up some more salt pork." Daine did not eat game, limiting herself to domesticated animals, which she could block from her mind.

Alanna scowled. "I'd rather not stop," she growled uneasily.

"We're not going to the castle," Jack agreed firmly, accepting Daine's knife and starting to skin one of the rabbits while Kitten watched curiously. The wildmage turned a little green and looked away. "Sorry," Jack apologized sheepishly when he saw her reaction. Numair tucked an arm around her and steered her away.

"It's alright," Daine told him, smiling weakly and resting her cheek on Numair's shoulder. "You can't help what you are."

"Which is a carnivore," Jack agreed brightly, or as brightly as he could. Jack had a darkness about him, some of which had recently been explained. Numair did not know the circumstance, but he could guess that the death of the man's lover had been traumatic. Still, there was something strange about Jack's interactions with Kitten, and his reaction to the deaths of the Nepthalae had been telling. Where the Tortallans had been nearly frozen with horror at the genocide, Jack had reacted with resignation, as though such massive amounts of death were commonplace. There was something else he wasn't telling them, Numair was sure, some other burden. Still, he'd learned that pushing Jack was no way to get the man to open up, so he played along with the conversation.

"Omnivore, actually," Numair corrected mildly, and Jack rolled his eyes.

"Omnivores by their nature can choose. I'm choosing carnivore at the moment," Jack replied wryly.

"Scientists," Alanna scoffed, and reached to skin the other rabbit. "Isn't it all the same?"

"Pigeon holes and labels," Jack agreed with another of his half smiles. "I don't really like them."

"Necessary for classification, though," Numair put in.

Jack snorted and muttered something, but no one heard him.

"We ought to stop in Corus," Numair told Alanna after a moment's silence. "The king should be informed about the Nepthalae."

"I suppose," Alanna sighed reluctantly, "even still, I'd rather not. We can send Jon a message by bird. I'm a bit annoyed with _His Majesty _at the moment, so I think it'd be best for me to stay away, especially after something like—this. I'm liable to get angry with him over something personal, and the Nepthalae deserve better than that. We can give him a full report after we take care of these weevils."

Numair looked down regretfully at the mention of the Nepthalae, but Jack broke the silence before any of them could become maudlin.

"King's Champion," he pointed out, gesturing with Daine's knife before frowning and wiping the rabbit's blood off the blade.

"That doesn't mean I have to like him all the time," Alanna muttered sourly.

"Jack's nervous because he's afraid that Jon'll react badly to his—condition," Daine put in softly, glancing at their friend, who was immortal through some sort of accident. Numair did not know the details—Jack kept such secrets—but he did know that it had something to do with a girl called Rose Tyler and a goddess called Bad Wolf.

Jack grimaced. Daine was eerily perceptive, sometimes, Numair thought with a wry little smile. "It isn't only that," Jack muttered.

Alanna raised an eyebrow. "He won't care that you can't die, if that's what you mean," she assured him.

"The last government that I had to deal with had me killed rather unpleasantly," Jack said uncomfortably after a moment, "And then—" he stopped, scowling. "It wasn't pretty."

"Well, you won't have to worry about that," Daine soothed. "We'd speak for you. And His Majesty doesn't really do public executions, especially if they won't work." She wriggled, and Numair removed his arm from her shoulder, letting her stand.

Jack seemed grateful for the comfort, although reluctant to admit it. "Thanks," he muttered awkwardly, hugging Daine back when she came over to sling an affectionate arm around his shoulder. He shot an uneasy glance to Numair. The mage approved; when he had first met Jack, he'd feared that the man would try to steal Daine away. When he'd learned about Ianto Jones, Jack's deceased lover, he'd become a little less worried for Daine and more worried for himself. Even still, Jack had been nothing beyond friendly, and when the man did flirt, it seemed to be with everyone, regardless of gender. "Who's starting the fire?"

Numair shrugged and gestured; a clump of earth removed itself from the center of their circle. He winced.

"That was unwise," Alanna quipped as Numair rubbed his temple, a headache starting to set in. Daine left Jack's side and grasped Numair's arm, looking worried and sympathetic. He gave her a smile and caressed her hand reassuringly.

"You should save it," she scolded gently, cupping his cheek. "We can dig out a fire pit by hand, dolt."

Jack frowned unhappily. "_Still _weak?" he asked guiltily.

"It was a big spell," Daine said defensively, rubbing Numair's arm and taking her hand from his cheek so she could turn to look at Jack. "And he was already tired."

"I'm not that delicate," Numair protested, but Daine pinched him a little and he wrinkled his nose at her. She was being ridiculous and fussy, Numair thought indignantly, ignoring the funny wriggly feeling that uncurled in his stomach at Daine's concern.

Jack glared. "You're not powering this thing until you're back to full strength," he scolded firmly, waving the receptacle. Numair opened his mouth to protest again, but Jack interrupted. "It isn't safe. I don't know how much power it'll need, and I'll not have you hurting on my account, not again."

Numair scowled to himself, but said nothing.

"I'm glad to hear it," Alanna said.

"That goes for you, too," Jack shot to the Lioness, by now fully aware that she was a powerful mage as well. Numair, amused, quirked a smile when Alanna made a face at him.

"I had no intention of powering that thing unless you absolutely needed it," Alanna rebuffed Jack loftily. "I prefer to save my strength." She patted the sword at her hip, and Jack nodded.

"Good." He rose to pull apart the firewood that Daine had brought, carefully arranging it in the middle of the pit.

"But if you gave me one of _your_ weapons—" Alanna started, but she quieted with a grin when Jack shot her a look over his shoulder.

"I don't think so," he replied wryly.

"Anachronisms, Alanna," Numair told her, smiling, using one of Jack's terms. Really, the amount that he had learned from their enigmatic friend was rather astounding. Jack rolled his eyes at the teasing and started to light the fire.

Kitten jogged over and cheeped; Jack scuttled backwards in surprise as flames suddenly roared. The dragon chirped proudly at him. Jack glared.

"You must be tired as well," he scolded but Kitten shrugged with her wings and trotted back to Daine. "Honestly, the lot of you," Jack complained good-naturedly, returning to his spot next to Numair.

Daine rolled her eyes, scooping the dragon up into her arms. "Welcome to my life," she said dryly.

"You're just as bad," Numair accused with a smile. The wildmage grinned unrepentantly and snuggled up to him. Numair sighed, amused despite himself, and draped an arm around her shoulders.

There was a moment of silence as they stared at the slowly growing fire.

"I suppose I can send a messenger pigeon to George," Alanna finally said. "If we're going to Corus. Another pair of eyes can't hurt, especially after we're all so tired. He can bring in some more supplies, so we don't have to stop tomorrow."

"That sounds like a compromise," Daine said, looking up to summon a bird. Jack scowled.

"The less people involved in this the better," he cautioned. "I don't want your gods angry with all of you."

"The badger understood," Daine reminded him gently. "And you _were_ holding up your end of the bargain; you were trying to get rid of the--the Nepthalae. We were just hoping to do it without the bloodshed."

Jack sighed, but a soft crooning noise interrupted him before he could say anything. He looked up.

Daine held out a hand and a mourning dove alighted on her palm. "Alanna?"

"Right," Alanna said, rising and then rummaging around her saddle bag, slung over a rock for the evening. Their horses were farther off, grazing. Daine's magic made tethers rather unnecessary.

Alanna pulled out a sheet of parchment and a quill, but seemed unable to find any ink. She scowled, digging around, but Numair chuckled and pulled some ink out of his own bag.

"Here," he offered. Alanna nodded and wrote her missive. She gave it to the bird, who flew off with a quiet croon to Daine.

"Hopefully he'll meet us on the road in a day or so," Alanna said. "I told him to report to Jon, so we shouldn't need to stop."

"More people," Jack muttered unhappily.

"It'll be alright, Jack," Daine soothed him, but Jack gave her a frightening, doubtful look.

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By the way, Guardian has been moved to the crossover section, where it belongs.

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	3. Chapter 2

_Jack! Jack Harkness! I'm looking for— _

Ianto?

_Jack! Jack, are you there?_

_Jack? _

_It's just darkness from here. Owen and Susie were right; it's only darkness. There must be a better way to do this…_

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"Owen!" Jack called as soon as he realized where he was standing. Torchwood Three, stationed under the monolith of the Millennium Center in Cardiff had, for some reason, reconstructed itself in his dreams. He remembered, vaguely, falling asleep under a tree with his friends in Tortall; now, in his dream, it was night and the stars were out, although the lights from the buildings mostly washed them away. He looked left and right but Owen, who usually came to talk to him when he dreamed, was nowhere to be found. "Owen! Where the hell are you? Harper!"

"Right! Sorry!" Owen Harper materialized in front of Jack, looking startled. "You fell asleep faster than I expected," he accused, striding across the empty Plass, which was lit by eerie, orange sodium lamps. His shadow stretched darkly behind him, and Jack was struck by the silence of the streets, which made Owen's footsteps loud in the night.

"Yeah. What can you tell me about the situation with the Great Gods?" Jack asked immediately, walking over to meet him. Owen grimaced, the orange light of the lamps casting his pale face in harsh relief.

"Yes, I'm fine thank you, how are you doing, Jack?" the medic mocked and Jack glared. Owen rolled his eyes. "They're all fighting," he replied, more seriously. "My mate Gainel's on your side, as are Daine's parents. The Graveyard Hag is beyond pissed, but she's pretty minor, and they're not listening to her, especially after the stunt she pulled." He nodded to Jack, who did not let himself drop his eyes. "Mithros, of course, is fuming, Alanna's Goddess has yet to grace us with her opinion, and Mynoss is playing with his scales – he's some kind of judgment god."

Jack frowned, going through the list of what he knew of the major gods here. "And the Black God?" That was the only other he could think of, although he was sure there were more. Perhaps he should ask Numair; Owen would bring up the others, if he knew of them.

Owen shrugged. "He doesn't really care either way."

"So it's just Mithros and the Graveyard Hag," Jack murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"That's the thing about a pantheon," Owen said with a wicked grin. "They fight amongst themselves. Still, the a whole bunch of them have yet to choose sides and those two are a bit of a force, so you ought to be careful." Owen looked around, his eyes falling on the smooth concrete and the massive, black monolith that used to mark an entrance to Torchwood Three. "It stayed together?" he asked the general air, eyeing the monolith.

"Looks that way," Jack said, glancing back at the sidewalk, unable to stop a small, fond smile from stretching his lips. He'd spent so long working for this place, and it was good to see it in one piece again, even if it was just in his dreams. "Think we can go inside?"

"It's your dream," Owen reminded him sarcastically. Jack rolled his eyes.

"Right." He tilted his head and they both went to stand on a certain stone that stood beneath the monolith. Jack ground his heel into the cement, and there was a low groan of working gears. Slowly, ponderously, the stone lowered into the ground. Jack beamed at Owen.

"Don't look so pleased," Owen muttered, although he was unable to hide the light in his eyes. "It's just a figment of your imagination."

"Yeah, but it's a damn good one," Jack enthused. He grinned brilliantly as they descended.

The Hub was just as Jack remembered it, naturally, but it was empty, devoid of the life that the Torchwood employees had brought to it. The stone dropped into the cavernous space beneath the concrete, and the lights flickered on with their presence. The computers were off, however, and there was none of the buzzing hum that had always seemed to go with the place. Jack looked sadly towards the archives, thinking of Ianto and the bargain he refused.

"Don't tell me you're still mooning over the tea boy," Owen said dryly, eyes on the dark computer screens of Tosh's old workstation.

"Jealous?" Jack asked, but his heart wasn't in the joke.

"You wish," Owen sneered, and Jack didn't take offence. The stone on which they were standing touched the ground and Jack and Owen stepped off.

"Just—" Owen said after a quiet moment, voice echoing oddly in the silent Hub, "Don't do anything stupid, Harkness. These gods can hardly hurt _you_, but there's something funny with this whole planet. I'm starting to get the feeling that this whole barrier thing is life or death."

"I'm getting that impression, too," Jack replied, walking over to Tosh's old desk, empty of course, and touching one of four computer monitors. The screens were all black. Owen sighed, looking at the chair.

"You think it's all darkness?" he asked after a moment, voice small.

"For Tosh? I wish it were something else," Jack replied quietly, missing his dead coworker. Tosh had loved Owen, once upon a time, but Owen had not acknowledged her until it was too late.

Owen swallowed. "Me too."

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_Light. _

_Wait. Hold on. Light? Where did—_

"Who're you supposed to be?"

Ianto Jones, deceased, blinked in the sudden light.

The darkness of the dead space was complete. There was simple nothing, everywhere, all the time. He had been walking to nowhere, calling for Jack, for an undetermined period time - because who could keep track, when there was nothing to keep track of? There was nothing to see. He could no more see the ground beneath his feet than he could feel it or even, really, feel his feet themselves. Who was to say he had feet, really? He was dead.

But there was light, from nowhere, and he squinted, surprised and unused to it. It did not illuminate anything - there was nothing to illuminate. It just hurt his eyes.

"This really has to stop," he said dryly to no one in particular.

"That can be arranged," growled the other voice and Ianto squinted. The speaker was drowned out in the light, and Ianto could not see whoever it was because of the spots in his vision. He blinked and blinked again. Hold on, he thought. Spots in his vision? That made no sense.

"I'm dead," he said, feeling a little lost.

"Join the club," the other voice replied wryly. Ianto scowled in the blinding light.

"I'm _dead_," Ianto repeated, because it bore repeating, "and the light is hurting my eyes. How does that even make sense?" He put a hand over his eyes, thumb next to his temple and palm facing down, in hopes of shading out at least some of it. It stayed constant, a bright blur in his vision, like a spotlight in a dark auditorium.

Minus the auditorium, of course, and plus more darkness. There was just _nothing. _

"Oh, you're one of _those_, are you?" the other voice sneered. "Always making _sense_ of things."

"Would you rather I made things otherwise?" Ianto shot back and the other voice chuckled.

"That's more like it," it said.

Ianto rolled his eyes and asked, "Who are you?"

_What_ was probably a more apt question, Ianto realized belatedly.

"I could ask the same of you, pretty boy," the voice scoffed.

"I asked you first."

Silence.

This was an exercise in futility, Ianto thought with a shred of frustration. "Ianto Jones," he said reluctantly, after a moment. "And you are…?"

Something silver and glinting waddled gracelessly into the light and as his eyes adjusted, Ianto Jones, the ever-composed veteran Torchwood operative, gaped.

"Rikash Moonsword," said the creature with wings of steel and a fierce grin. "I think we can help each other, Ianto Jones."

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	4. Chapter 3

"How can I let go of this? I bring life." The Bad Wolf stares sightlessly ahead.

Somewhere, Jack Harkness starts breathing.

Somewhere, Father Universe screams.

Somewhere else, the Chaos Queen Uusoae starts to laugh.

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"What the _hell _are those?" Jack demanded, staring at the glinting lights in the pre-dawn sky. A breath of foul air had woken him from a very pleasant dream about Torchwood Three. It had not been pleasant in a way that Jack would have liked, once upon a time, but once upon a time, he had had Ianto to keep him active in his dreams. Now, it was only the presence of the Torchwood Hub, whole and intact, that made this dream enjoyable.

How the mighty have fallen, Jack thought wryly. Once, that dream would have been dull, kicked aside for other, more fleshy pleasures.

Another waft of the small hit his nose and he scowled.

"Stormwings," Daine muttered, sitting up in the bedroll that she shared with Numair. "They must've found the Nepthalae."

Numair groaned unhappily beside her, voice muffled by the blankets.

Jack turned from the glinting, ominous lights in the sky and looked at his friends. Daine was looking out darkly towards the road, which they had followed from the meadow for three days. Her face was sad and resigned, and one hand stroked the half-asleep Numair's hair anxiously. Numair, for his part, was all dark eyes and tousled hair, and he was watching Daine with sleepy concern. Alanna had not stirred, nose buried too far under her own blankets to have caught wind of the stench.

Kitten, curled up at Jack's feet, sat up and cheeped. Her scales turned a deep blue and she wrinkled her nose unhappily, chattering.

"Storm-what?" Jack asked. Numair rustled under the covers of his bedroll and shook himself awake. Daine stilled him with a hand on his shoulder, and turned to Jack.

"They're a kind of Immortal," she explained softly, and her tone was sad. "They feed off of death and battles, sort of like vultures. The—the Nepthalae ship…" her voice trailed.

Jack swallowed, understanding her meaning, and looked back up. Lights glinted in the distance. "And they smell really foul," he added quietly, wrinkling his own nose. "And—some kind of reflective surface?"

"They look like the spawn of a person and a great, big metal bird," Alanna interrupted, sitting up as well, red hair tousled around her head. "They have feathers made out of razor sharp steel and a very nasty attitude," she said, glancing sharply at Daine. If the wildmage wanted to go fight off these things, it seemed that Alanna was game. Jack was unsure of whether he wanted to shoo them away or not—if they were the natural order of this planet, then he knew they were best off not bothering, but the guilt that sat heavy on his shoulders wanted him to do something.

"They won't harm us here," Daine said softly, full of regret. "There's nothing we can do for the Nepthalae; we buried what we could. The ship's two days' ride off." She laid herself down next to Numair. "We're just unlucky enough that there's a strong breeze, and we're downwind. We'll rise when the sun's up. Go back to sleep, Jack."

Jack frowned, not satisfied. He glanced down at Kitten, who, with a look to Daine, curled up once again at his feet. The little dragon kept on glancing at him, as though to make sure that he was okay. Jack spared her a strained smile and fluffed his pillow.

They smell godawful, he thought unhappily, laying back down and turning his head to stare at the glinting things in the sky. He wondered why they were attracted to the dead aliens, and thought morbidly about vultures. There really was nothing they could do: the ship was too far, when the only mode of transportation was by horse. He sighed.

The dawn was false; the sky was a deep, velvet blue, almost a dark purple. It would be an hour or so until the sun rose, but the distant Stormwings were reflecting moonlight off their metal wings, twinkling like stars. There must be some sort of draft, Jack thought miserably, burying his nose in his blankets and trying not to think about the blood on his hands. Their stench had been bad enough to wake him, even at this distance.

He squeezed his eyes shut and layered his blanket. That helped a bit, he thought unhappily, resigning himself to wakefulness for the next few hours.

* * *

"Moonsword. Right. Pardon my asking, but what exactly _are_ you?" Ianto was staring at the creature, wrinkling his nose as a godawful smell wafted by him.

Ianto had smelled some pretty bad things in his life – chasing weevils down in the sewers and cleaning up after Torchwood Three came to mind – but this was a whole new class of horrid. It was dead things, excrement and decay, and so strong that it took physical effort not to gag, which was odd, considering he was dead.

The creature's steel wings rattled and Ianto glanced at them through eyes watering from the smell. The metal appendages and the noises they made brought Torchwood One to mind, and the death and horror that had haunted Ianto's dreams in life, but the Cybermen that had invaded Canary Warf never had wings. If they did, they would look like this, though, Ianto thought uncomfortably.

Don't be foolish, he scolded himself. Cybermen were just people, really, people encased in steel with their emotions removed, hell-bent on converting more people into their kind. You couldn't have a Cyberman in the dead space, that didn't even make sense. Besides, this creature had a human head, and didn't speak with a robotic voice. Right?

"Surely you've heard of Stormwings?" Moonsword asked, breaking Ianto's train of thought, and at Ianto's raised eyebrows he huffed, ruffling feathers that clinked and clanked and made Ianto shift his weight uneasily. "Really? That's disappointing. Still, I suppose it makes a sort of sense. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I'm looking for a man called Jack Harkness," Ianto told him immediately. It wasn't really much of a risk, and who knew – Susie had once said that, beyond death, there was something moving in the Darkness, and it wanted Jack. Maybe someone here would know of him. "I know he's in some sort of trouble—he's always in some sort of trouble—but someone said his name, this old woman—"

"Humans," Moonsword scoffed, tossing his head so the bones braided in his filthy blond hair clicked together, "honestly. I take it your Jack Harkness is still alive?"

"He's always alive," Ianto muttered, suddenly missing Jack enough not to be offended that the creature had interrupted him.

The metal bird with a human head looked at him oddly, but all he said was, "I figured it was something like that. You're well beyond the Realms of the Dead, Ianto Jones." The steel feathers ruffled and smoothed, whispering against each other like a sword in a scabbard.

"There's realms?" Ianto asked sarcastically, "I wouldn't exactly call that a realm."

The Stormwing chuckled darkly. "Don't let your Black God catch you saying that, mortal." He grinned, showing off pointed silver teeth.

Ianto, who had been the clean-up man of Torchwood Three and therefore had seen sets of more alarming teeth in his lifetime, only narrowed his eyes, confused and not liking it. "I'd rather not deal with gods, thanks," he said flatly.

Moonsword cocked his head, the bones braided in his matted blond hair clicking again. "You're—" he started, frowning, and then stopped. "You're not from my world," he finished after a moment.

"I should think that's rather obvious," Ianto replied dryly.

The creature glared at him. "So," he continued pointedly, "Where you're from—there's no realms?"

"Darkness and silence," Ianto whispered, shuddering a little, "If that's what you call a realm."

"No," the Stormwing murmured thoughtfully, sidling anxiously on his metal raptor's feet, "it isn't. This isn't one either, really." He gestured with one steel-feathered wing. "My world has no place for dead Immortals."

Ianto blinked, but his hopes leaped for a moment. "I thought an immortal, by the nature of immortality, cannot die," he said slowly.

"We're only called Immortals," Moonsword replied dryly. "Clearly, we can die."

Ianto swallowed his disappointment. "I see," he muttered. "And how do you think we can help each other, Mr. Moonsword?"

"Sun and shield, call me Rikash!" the Stormwing drawled, wincing. "You don't need to constantly remind me of the sentimentality of my pigeon ancestors."

"Rikash, then," Ianto agreed after a moment.

"And I was under the impression that you were looking for the Realms of the Dead," the Immortal said, sidling uncomfortably. "Because I would like to gain access as well. This is—" he gestured to the darkness around the little circle of light.

"Rather awful?" Ianto finished wryly.

"Rather," Rikash sneered, but Ianto could hear the true fear behind it. He frowned thoughtfully and looked at the edges of the light.

"Are you producing this?" Ianto asked, gesturing to the brightness that had hurt his eyes before.

"The light? Of course," Rikash scoffed. "Wouldn't you, if you could?"

Ianto smiled, but it was not a particularly nice smile. "I think we _can_ help each other, Rikash Moonsword."

* * *

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	5. Chapter 4

"George says he'll meet us somewhere on the road beyond Corus," Alanna said, sitting astride Darkmoon and rolling the scroll up with a snap. The messenger pigeon, preening Daine's hair, cooed in agreement.

Jack glanced at the great castle walls rising in the distance, relieved. "So we're not stopping," he stated.

Daine and Numair shared a look before Numair shook his head. "No," the mage answered. "I suppose not."

Red who had been standing calmly beneath Jack, tossed his head with an uneasy snort. Distracted, Jack glanced down at his mount.

"Relax," Daine scolded him. "You're making Red nervous. We're not stopping—no reason to be tense. Come on, then." She sighed and turned Cloud. "We should keep going."

"Sorry," Jack muttered down to his horse's neck, forcing the set of his shoulders to relax and tugging gently on his gelding's mane. Red huffed and glanced back at him. One dark eye peered at him reproachfully before the dappled gelding moved to follow Cloud. Jack couldn't stop the little smile that curled his lips. He patted Red's neck affectionately.

The castle walls loomed as they got closer to the city. The road grew more crowded as well, but people often hurried on as they caught sight of the others. Several curious eyes fell on Jack, but they always looked away when he smiled at them.

"Tough crowd," Jack murmured when a man sitting on a wagon actually bade his horse to trot as they drew near.

"You're traveling with two of the strongest mages in the world," Alanna said dryly. "That's bound to make people nervous."

"And the estranged King's Champion to boot," Numair added humorously. "We all get funny looks and I'm sure there'll be gossip about you in the palace, Jack, now that you've been seen with us."

"Great," Jack growled, but Daine smiled.

"You get used to it," the wildmage said dryly.

They rode in silence after that, and Jack worried quietly to himself as the castle grew closer and closer. He had to admit, it was an impressive bit of architecture for people who did not know the science of tall buildings. Still, the government that it represented made him nervous. Daine, Numair and Alanna were loyal to their king, that was patently obvious, and if Jack had learned anything in his years, it was never to trust a ruler. His three friends would turn on him if their king bade them, and that was not something he wanted to contemplate.

Jack shifted uncomfortably on Red's back. The dappled gelding shot him a glance over his shoulder, and Jack patted his neck reassuringly. He'd gotten too close to these three over just a few weeks. He knew it was a mistake, and it was one that he'd promised he'd never make again. But he'd developed fondness for them so quickly – Daine's kindness, Numair's curiosity, Alanna's fierceness, even Kitten, the little dragon asleep in Daine's saddlebag – and, after the past however-long-it-had-been of him traveling alone, the camaraderie had been welcome. Even becoming emotionally attached to Red was a mistake, in the long run. He ran three fingers through the gelding's black-and-white mane, feeling melancholy.

He liked it here, Jack thought sadly. He could learn to love this place, if the king turned out to be what the others said he was.

But it was unlikely. Even fair rulers were dangerous, and kings were rarely fair.

He shouldn't like it here. He was already responsible for about a hundred and fifty deaths, and he'd learned that the god's here were cruel. This planet was starting to look like a graveyard, too. How would it feel, Jack thought bitterly, in a hundred years' time? Another place he had grown fond of, people he loved – because he could love these people, given enough time – all dead, and Jack still around? His hand fisted in Red's mane. How—

"Well, that was sooner than I thought!" Alanna exclaimed, breaking Jack out of his dark spiral. She urged Darkmoon to a canter and Jack blinked, turning in confusion to Daine and Numair, who had held their horses back.

"The chestnut," Daine told Jack, grinning and gesturing. Jack followed her hand.

Darkmoon's black tail streamed proudly behind him. He headed toward a chestnut horse that looked, if it had been from Earth, as if might have had Arabian blood in it. The man atop the horse had stopped, and from this distance Jack could see that he was broad shouldered, his hair a light, dusty brown. Darkmoon pitched to a halt and Alanna hugged the man from the back of her horse. His responding grin was wide enough that Jack could see it at this distance.

"Come on," Daine said, and urged Cloud to a trot. Numair and Jack followed.

"Daine Sarrasri!" the man cried when they got close enough for speech. "Mithros bless, you get more beautiful every day." His voice was a pleasant tenor and slightly lilting.

"Good to see you, too, George," Numair drawled, but his dark eyes glittered with amusement. Jack sat back on Red and watched, intrigued.

"And you, Numair." Baron George Cooper of Pirate's Swoop gave Daine a hug and brought his horse close enough to give Numair a friendly slap on the back. He turned to Jack. "And you're the mysterious Jack Harkness," he stated, hazel eyes bright and curious and far more intelligent than Jack was expecting.

Jack's eyebrows rose. "Alanna wrote about me?" He glanced back at her and the Lioness smirked, eyes sliding, both proud and exasperated, to George.

"Nah," George replied easily, grinning mischievously. "I just know these things."

Jack liked him immediately. "You do, do you?" he shot back, grasping the offered hand. George's grip was strong and his palm callused.

"Are you flirting with my husband?" Alanna accused incredulously, and Jack gave her a dazzling smile.

"I could flirt with you too, if you like."

George roared with laughter and urged his horse back. "Hands off; I fought long and hard for my Lioness," he joked, but the playful grin on his face belied his words.

"Never said I'd come between you," Jack assured him, face solemn. "Unless you wanted me to, of course."

"Jack!" his three friends yelped, shocked, and George laughed again.

"Certainly not from 'round here," the ex-thief chuckled, recovering, but he started snickering again at his wife's bright red face. Even Jack felt his lips curling in a reluctant smile.

"This is going to be unbearable," Alanna lamented mockingly, urging Darkmoon to walk. "And not a word out of you, Jack Harkness."

Jack smiled charmingly at her again, and George snickered. They fell into a short silence, marked by the clip-clop of the horses' hooves. "Th' gossip says you're from somewhere distant," George told Jack after a moment. "And there was some nasty business with a bunch of creatures that weren't Immortals?" He urged his chestnut closer to Red, watching Jack curiously.

Jack's good mood dissipated abruptly. "You won't have to worry about it," he said bitterly. "Your gods took care of them just fine."

George's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

"They died," Daine told him softly. "They had a ship made to travel between worlds—Numair can tell you more about it—but it was damaged in some kind of war. Jack wanted to fix it and send them away, but the gods destroyed it before he got the chance."

"How many?" George demanded.

"Hundred, hundred fifty," Numair replied regretfully, and George sucked in his breath.

"Why?"

"Something to do with a queen called Uusoae," Jack growled, blue eyes hard as he stared down at Red's dark mane, not meeting anyone's eyes. "Apparently anyone from off-planet strengthens her foothold." He did not care that George would likely not understand the off-planet reference, and he was surprised when the man did.

"What of you, then, lad? My sources tell me you're from beyond the stars." George's eyes were sharp when Jack glanced up at him in surprise.

He laughed darkly. "I'm no lad, Baron. And apparently since I've made a bargain, I'm safe. Mostly." There was no reason to get into Bad Wolf, Jack thought grimly. None at all. Besides, Daine with probably tell George soon enough.

George rubbed his chin. "You'll want to watch those bargains," was all he said.

"Yeah, I've figured that out by now." Jack's black mood returned with a vengeance, as he was forcibly reminded of the goddess called the Graveyard Hag. Red sighed a little, sensing Jack's tense body, and he wound his fingers apologetically through the horse's dark mane.

There was a silence, which George broke. "Let's get a bit of a jog going," he said after a moment, "once we're clear of Corus, we can set down camp. I've a few messages I'd like to send to Myles, Daine, if you can ask some of your friends for the help."

Alanna, in the lead, urged Darkmoon to trot and they followed. George seemed more perceptive as he urged his chestnut into a fast canter, forcing them all to run in order to keep up. Jack gasped, startled and grateful as Red leaped forward.

The wind whipped past them and Jack was suddenly consumed with the joy of it – somehow, it was better than fast ships or fast land vehicles. He could feel Red's muscles as the horse careened after the others and all Jack could think about was the blessed rush of adrenalin, holding himself on Red's back as they raced down the road. It was as if there was nothing else—nothing but the wind and the road and the sound of the horses' hooves as they struck the ground. Jack lost himself in it, grateful that he could pretend that that was all there was, just for a while.


	6. Chapter 5

"I'm telling you," Rikash snapped as he waddled alongside Ianto, "There's nowhere to go. It's all like this. The only reason we're even corporal is because of my spell."

Ianto glanced at the Stormwimg, who looked rather like a penguin tottering back and forth as he walked. It was quite undignified; he was sure such a creature was made more for the air than for the ground. "Spells," Ianto scoffed into the darkness, squinting as the small globe of light following Rikash dipped up and down.

"Oh, that's right," the Stormwing continued sarcastically, "You come from a world with aliens, rather than magic. How awful for you. How is this helping, again?"

"I want to gain access to the world of the living," Ianto explained patiently, "and so do you, am I right?"

"Well, I can't very well tear apart the world of the dead," Rikash sneered. "If you can even call this a world." His eyes darted uneasily to the darkness that yawned beyond the bobbing light globe.

"And I wouldn't," Ianto agreed. "Therefore, we need to find—something. Anything that can help. There must be _something_."

"There isn't," the Stormwing growled. "I keep on trying to tell you, and you keep on not listening. There's just nothing. That's what it's like between realms. Nothing. Not a single thing."

"I refuse to just _stand_ here," Ianto said flatly, gesturing determinedly.

"So we walk to nowhere," Rikash mocked.

"Can't you fly?" Ianto asked snidely. "Better to fly nowhere than to walk nowhere. More stimulating, I should think."

"And leave you behind? Because that's starting to look tempting," the Stormwing snapped. He didn't mean it, though, that much was obvious. Ianto glanced over, and he saw the same fear reflected back at him in the Stormwing's green eyes. It was better to be with someone, anyone, than it was to face the darkness alone.

"I can hold onto your feet," Ianto suggested. They both stopped and looked dubiously at the Stormwing's vicious claws.

"I'd slice you to ribbons," Rikash said slowly, flexing his right foot, causing the raptor's talons to gleam in his globe-light. He shook his head without saying anything, clearly unwilling to harm Ianto. Ianto was strangely touched, even though it was irrelevant.

"I'm dead," he replied dryly. "I haven't got a body, never mind your spell, or whatever it is. It's not like you're going to kill me," he added.

Rikash ground his claws into ground that, technically, did not exist. "I suppose," he muttered, sounding unconvinced.

"Can you create things?" Ianto asked. "Like a rope or something? A swing, or a hammock."

The Stormwing scoffed. He unfolded both of his wings, gesturing to the darkness. "Nothing," he said very slowly, as if Ianto were dim. Ianto scowled.

"Yes, I got that, thanks," he muttered, but then frowned, smoothing his hand over the tie he still wore around his neck and the gray vest he'd worn the day the Four-Five-Six had killed him. "But somehow I'm wearing clothes," he said.

"Would you rather you weren't?" Rikash sneered, and Ianto ignored him.

"I'm wearing the clothing I was when I died. Why?" Ianto paced for a moment. He stopped. "And you have bones in your hair," he accused. Rikash raised an eyebrow. "Did you wear those, in life?"

"Yes," the Stormwing replied, shifting his weight uneasily and clearly perplexed as to where Ianto was going with this. "But what does that have to do with—"

"Because it means that we _have possessions,_" Ianto insisted and Rikash looked intrigued. "We're wearing what we were wearing when we died. Why?"

There was a silence.

"Because we think we should be?" Ianto hypothesized after a moment.

"So," the Stormwing continued that train of thought, "If you, say, reach into one of your pockets…" his voice trailed.

"…and expect to find a rope," Ianto finished slowly, reaching into his trouser pocket. He grinned triumphantly and pulled; a long orange bungee cable, coiled tightly, emerged. "I'll find a rope," he said delightedly, "because technically, none of this is real. It's like a dream. Can I make light, too?" He looked beyond Rikash and _expected _it to be light.

Light bloomed around the edges of the Stormwing's spell, and Ianto beamed at him. "Think I could grow wings?" he asked eagerly.

"Don't risk it," Rikash warned. "There's a law, back where I'm from: if you change into an Immortal, you get stuck in that form. Your Jack Harkness would hardly be happy with a Stormwing, would he?"

"He probably wouldn't care," Ianto replied wryly, but he smiled now, happy with his discovery. "Thanks for the warning, though. Can you hold onto this?" He waved the bungee cord.

In reply, Rikash fanned his wings and jumped a little. He flew, but not far, as if he was afraid he'd lose Ianto in the darkness surrounding his spell. Ianto shared that fear: he saw that his light, like Rikash's, only extended in a small circle, and if he was separated from his companion, he doubted that they could find each other again.

The Stormwing, hovering, offered a steel talon, and Ianto handed him one of the metal hooks on the end of his bungee cord. Carefully, he tied a knot in the middle, before handing Rikash the other hook. Then he sat on the knot like the seat of a swing. "Am I too heavy?" he asked.

"No," Rikash said. "You haven't any weight at all."

"That's depressing," the dead man observed.

"It is, rather," the Stormwing replied and they flew off into the darkness.

---

* * *

---

Cloud broke her gallop, gasping, and Daine called the others to slow.

I'm not as young as I once was, Daine's pony panted.

That's alright, she assured her. "They're getting tired," Daine told the others. "Best to save it in case we really do need to run."

"Good idea," Alanna replied, out of breath herself as she reined in Darkmoon, the warhorse chomping in his bit, flecks of foam around his mouth. "What was that all about, George?"

George was eyeing Jack, who was looking down at his mount's neck, breathing heavily. "I dunno," the Baron replied. "I think Dove here wanted to stretch her legs, and I've been cooped up too long. S'been a while since I've done that."

"It's been—a while—for all of us," Numair gasped, leaning on Spots' neck. He looked exhausted, Daine noted worriedly.

"Are you alright, Numair?" Daine asked, urging Cloud closer to Spots. The mage smiled at her weakly.

"I'm fine," he assured, although his face was alarmingly gray. George looked from him to Alanna and then frowned.

"You wizards do something foolish?" he demanded. Daine reached out and touched her mage's thigh in concern. He smiled over at her and patted her hand before lifting it to his lips.

"Yes," Alanna replied, giving him a half smile. George rolled his eyes.

"Do I want to know?"

"Not really," Jack put in darkly. George watched him with sharp eyes, but before he could ask Daine urged Cloud onwards to take the lead. There was no need to prod at skittish Jack, Daine thought, not when they had a job to do.

"Come on," she said, all business, although her eyes fixed mostly on Numair as he smiled at her with tired pride. "There are weevils in these woods, now that we've passed Corus. We should cool out the horses and then make camp. We'll never find them if Numair and Alanna stay exhausted, and if Jack doesn't fix up his thing." She nodded to Jack's saddlebag, where he was keeping the food storage thing, scavenged from the Nepthalae ship and then glanced back again to Numair. Her mage was silent, leaning on Spots' neck, but when he felt her eyes on him once more he sat up and smiled at her. She was not convinced, although Daine felt her own lips twist into a replying smile involuntarily. Even knowing that he was alright did not change her memories; she remembered him collapsing lifeless onto her shoulder, and the fierce, helpless love she'd felt as he exhausted himself. Daine shivered.

"You're right," Alanna agreed, urging Darkmoon on and bringing Daine back to the present.

"I heard tell they were headin' toward the city," George added, following.

"They would," Jack said after a moment. Daine's eyes slid back to him; the man had a dark look on his face, lost somewhere in unhappy memories. "They like sewers and dead things to prey on, and the higher population of people would draw them in." He glanced at George and added, "This is you just knowing things, again?"

George inclined his head with an unpleasant grin. "Yes, sir," he said mockingly. Jack winced unexpectedly at the jesting formality, but said nothing. He tensed enough for Red to feel it, though, and the dappled gelding took an unsure step forward before Jack pulled him back into a halt. Daine wrinkled her forehead, wondering at the look of pain that had flashed on her friend's face before he had smoothed it back into his regular good humored mask.

"Has anyone been hurt?" Alanna asked, eyes on George, apparently having missed Jack's body language.

"One man gone missing," George replied, and Daine realized from his small nod that he had spotted Jack's odd reaction, too. "But that could be spidrens. These beasties ain't near any towns, that I know of, and I know of a few. Can you send spies, Daine?"

"Good idea," the wildmage murmured, looking up to the sky. Several forest sparrows piped up from several trees, and she called to them, asking questions.

Images played in her mind in response: six foot creatures with small, beady eyes and great white teeth. We thought they were two-leggers, some of the birds told her uneasily. Two leggers with teeth.

"They've seen them," Daine muttered, glancing at her friends. "That's why they're all here, not east. There's better food to the east, but these weevils've scared them off."

"Wise of them," Jack remarked, watching the trees warily. "Weevils are nasty business. How far are we, do you think?"

"Two days, three," Daine replied, doing some guesswork. "They say four days' flight, but sparrows aren't built for long distance."

"If they're heading this way, we'll find them soon enough," Jack declared. "We should make camp sooner rather than later, I think, if we want our mages to rest."

"I'm fine," Numair protested, but they all shot him a wry look. Even Alanna, who must have been just as tired as Numair, glared at him. He wilted slightly in the saddle.

"It's been a few days," Numair said crossly. "I'm not a flower."

"You're a lovely summer blossom," Jack told him dryly, and Daine snorted in amusement. Numair glared. "And we're going to need you to power my storage receptacle, so you need to rest," Jack added.

"I've been doing nothing but resting," the mage complained, gesticulating so that Spots' reins flapped in the air. The gelding rolled his eyes at Daine. "I'm sitting on the back of a horse, going at an easy walk. That was the first bit of exercise I've had in days." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating their gallop.

"Even still," George said, although his eyes were on a glaring Alanna, "The rest can only do you good, and you as well, my Lioness. If these beasties are as nasty as I hear they are, you'll need it."

"They are," Jack stated flatly. "Trust me, they are. You can take them down, no problem, but if you're tired they'll take advantage of that, and we don't know how many there are out there."

"Do you think Daine will be able to talk to them?" Numair asked. Daine looked at him quizzically.

"I don't know," Jack admitted. "They communicate through a low level telepathic field, so she might be able to. At the same time, your—power, for lack of a better word, comes from this pocket universe, and there's no proof that it would work on beings from _outside_ this pocket universe."

"This _what?_" George asked.

"Apparently we're isolated from the rest of the universe," Alanna explained wryly, glancing at Jack. "This puts us in a pocket."

"The rest of the universe doesn't have—magic," Jack said, wincing at the word 'magic.' "The Gift, your gods – that stuff only exists here."

"But the weevils _are_ here," Daine reasoned, thinking aloud. "If they're in this universe, then they have to follow our rules. If they're animals, I should be able to talk to them."

"Maybe they're not animals," Jack pointed out. "I don't know what they are. What would the difference be, between animal and sentient creature, if the sentient creature is not human? You couldn't speak to the Nepthalae, could you?"

Daine frowned. "No," she said slowly. "No, I suppose not."

"That's an interesting distinction," Numair murmured after a moment. "But she can speak to basilisks and dragons, and they're sentient."

Daine frowned and glanced at Numair. The word 'sentient' was familiar, but she still didn't know what it meant. He smiled warmly at her, correctly interpreting her look. "Sentience: it's the ability to think and reason," he told her.

I take personal offence to that, Cloud said immediately.

"Animals can think," Daine told Numair, affronted.

"The ability to plan for the future," Jack elaborated, glancing at Numair. "To engineer and learn complex mathematics, to solve problems and puzzles. Two qualifications for sentience are to have a language and art."

"_I_ can't do complex mathematics." Alanna muttered, and startled a short laugh out of Jack.

"Yes you can," he said easily. "You have the ability to learn it, if you work at it long enough. You understand numbers in the abstract, rather than the literal. You get six as the number six, and don't need to think of it as six apples, or whatnot."

I can do that too, Cloud snapped, to be echoed by the other horses.

You've been changed by my magic, Daine told them silently, thoughtfully. You think more like a two-legger, now.

I suppose, the Cloud murmured.

"Tkaa and Kitten do those things, though," Daine countered aloud, patting one of her saddlebags where Kitten was curled up, asleep. "And the animals that change because of me. I can still talk to them."

Numair hummed thoughtfully and Jack shrugged.

"We'll see when we run into them," Jack said. "Silly to speculate, really. We'll know very quickly whether or not you can speak with them."

"Still interesting, though," Numair said with a smile to Daine. She grinned back at him, knowing that he would theorize right up until she looked a weevil in the eye, and even then he would experiment ever after.

"Speculate away then," Jack told him indulgently, and Alanna groaned.

"Oh, now you'll never shut him up. Shall we make camp?" she asked.

"We're still on a pretty main road," George put in. "We oughtta go off into the woods a bit. I think there's a stream 'bout a quarter mile up that way." He gestured.

"Sounds good," Daine said, guiding Cloud off the road. "There aren't many Immortals around," she continued as they followed her. "Or, nothing nasty, anyway. There's a unicorn – the nice kind – a little ways away, but he won't want to talk to us."

Jack's smile was wistful. "I don't suppose you could call him over?"

"You're no blushing virgin, sorry," Daine told him cheekily, and Jack chuckled a little, sadly.

"No, I'm afraid not." He guided Red around a rock. "How is it that you sense Immortals?" he asked, after a moment. "And can you sense me?"

Daine shrugged. "Dunno," she replied. "I can just feel 'em. You're—I felt you when you first arrived here. You're sort of there, now that I think about it," she added, cocking her head at him and reaching out with her magic thoughtfully. "You come in fits and starts. You're a regular two-legger to me, just a little bit—off."

"Immortal," George repeated slowly after a moment. Jack winced.

"He can't die. He comes back to life," Alanna told George succinctly, and the Baron's eyebrows shot up. Jack looked uncomfortable.

"How'd that happen, then?" George asked and Jack scowled.

"It's a long story," he growled, sitting tensely. Red snorted, clearly sensing his stress, but the dappled gelding didn't comment.

George eyed Jack. "There's people who would kill for such a power," he said.

"They don't know what they want," Jack growled, rubbing Red's withers with his thumb.

George opened his mouth to say something more, but Alanna caught his eye. Daine watched her friend shake her head slowly. George frowned and then nodded, conveying that he understood. They rode in silence for a long while, until Numair broke it. "I think I hear the brook," he said.

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Please leave a review :)


	7. Chapter 6

Thanks again to my lovely reviewers! You guys totally rock. But where did everyone else go? –pouts-

Anyway, I'll quit whining; here's the next chapter, and it's extra long—enjoy!

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**This is a place that does not exist.**

**It sits on the boundary of Dream and Nothing, hardly real at all. **

**This place is without depth or space; like an oil painting, it oozes onto itself. **

**The Bad Wolf set Uusoae free when she opened the universe, accidentally, like a giant tripping over a prison, breaking the walls. The Chaos Queen does not care. There is a hole in the universe, and Chaos grows stronger as it widens, as things fall through. The Great Gods do not know that she is here, and that she is free. The Guardian of the Gates is hurt, off in a cave somewhere licking his wounds but when he has healed, he will fix the hole. This must not happen. Uusoae smiles and makes a fist, and then makes seven hundred fists. Somewhere, a goat begins to wail. **

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"I think this is a waste of time," Ianto muttered.

"Oh, really? I'm so glad you think that, sweetheart," Rikash sneered, and Ianto rolled his eyes.

They were flying, but it did not feel as though they were flying. Rikash's wings whispered up and down, and Ianto rose and fell with each beat, but there was no other indication of movement. There were no landmarks, nothing rushing past, not even a breeze. It was as though Ianto were sitting on one of those kiddy rides outside of a shop, moving up and down without going anywhere at all.

"Now what?" Ianto asked.

"We keep flying," Rikash replied grimly.

"At least when we walked I felt productive," Ianto muttered, resting a hand on the orange bungee cable and looking up to the wicked claws that held it.

"Really? How lovely for you. There's one problem." Rikash did not look down at him, instead kept his eyes straight ahead, on the horizon that did not exist.

"Yeah?" Ianto asked, still twisting his head to look up.

"Yes. I can't find the ground." Rikash's voice was dry and a little bit scared.

Ianto looked down into the endless dark and winced, fear creeping into his own voice. "Great. We could just _expect_ it." There was nothing to be afraid of, he told himself. It was only darkness.

But he was only human, despite being dead, and fear of the dark was as instinctual as the breath he didn't need.

"I'd rather fly," Rikash replied flatly, wings still whispering up and down. "I prefer it to walking. These claws aren't made to walk."

Ianto rubbed his thumb on the bungee cable, looking at the ugly orange stripes rather than the dark. "Fair enough," he muttered.

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Jack sat by the fire and poked at it with a long stick. Several sparks flew into the air like fireflies and he sighed, watching them.

It was still light out. George had gone hunting this time with Alanna at his side, presumably to explain about Jack's sensitivity to his damn past. Numair was lying on his back in a bedroll, humming and occasionally sighing to himself as he thought about whatever problem he was trying to solve in his head. Daine sat across from Jack, in silence, cutting up the salt pork that she would eat for dinner and Kitten played with stones at her feet.

Time was, these people would not know a whit about Jack. Jack was good at keeping secrets; it was just that this damn place kept on bringing things up, like a farmer striking oil. He was a conman, for god's sake; he really should have used another one of his names when he'd first introduced himself. Jack Harkness was a broken man – at least, if they called him something else, he could pretend to _be_ something else. He really should have introduced himself as Colla. But Colla Ruff did not have friends – he had enemies and he had victims. Jack Harkness had friends. Jack Harkness had more than friends – he had meaningful relationships; he loved people, he _trusted _people. He kept his secrets, but they had not hurt him then, not like they did now.

A soft nose touched his shoulder and he sighed, reaching up a hand to pat his concerned gelding's cheek. "I'm alright," he assured Red, who snuffled, clearly not buying it.

"He says you worry too much," Daine translated after a moment, smiling. She'd finished cutting her dinner, and tossed a stone playfully at Kitten, who chirped delightedly and raced to catch it. "Are you alright? I'm sorry about George—"

Jack waved her apologies away. "He's sharp, your Baron," he said with a wry smile. "He asks good questions. Whether or not I want to answer them is an entirely different story." Red sighed into Jack's hair, and bent further to nudge his back affectionately. Jack reached up and behind, twisting a little, so he could scratch the horse's ear.

Daine's eyes were compassionate. "You told me you were on the run, when we were getting your coat fixed in Stone Hill," she told him quietly after a moment. "It's whatever happened to you that you're running from, isn't it? And these weevils are bringing it all back."

Jack swallowed, but he nodded, looking down. His hand slipped from between Red's ears to the ground, and the horse sighed, lifting his head again to press his nose into Jack's shoulder.

"Listen," Daine murmured. "We all know what that's like. Even George. If you don't want to tell us, you don't have to. But Red's right, you know; it might help if you did."

Jack swallowed and moved away from his warm horse to poke at the fire again. Kitten returned with her stone and stopped in front of him. She cheeped and tilted her head to the side, dropped the rock on the ground and pushed herself onto his lap. Startled at the affection, Jack patted her head, appreciating the gesture.

"Everyone says that talking helps," he said bitterly after a moment, looking down at the dragon in his lap and feeling Red's breath whisper through his hair, "but somehow I don't think that's the case. These things fester, it's true, but speaking about them only brings them back." He looked up at Daine and tried to smile; he knew it came out looking rather grim. "I want to be _here_, Daine. Right here, right now. The past isn't supposed to matter. Speaking about them won't bring them back—nothing can bring them back. This is who I am. It isn't who I'm proud of; he'd dead and gone. But right here, right now, is who I am, and that's what matters." His hand trembled a little against Kitten's scales, and the dragon's croon went up an octave in concern.

Daine looked back at him calmly. The sun was slanting in the sky, and it dappled the ground through the trees. Owen had said that Daine's parents were gods: in this light, Jack could believe it.

"But it does bring them back," she replied softly after a moment. "They live on in your memory, and in ours. The more who know about those who died, the more alive they become."

Jack's vision blurred but he shook away tears that surprised him with their suddenness. Did he really have that many regrets? The answer, painfully obvious, was a _yes_ that resounded like a child's scream. "No," he disagreed quietly. "No. You think that's how it works, but it isn't. The more people who know about them, the deader they become; they're just a story, then. Not flesh and blood. I'm not that man anymore. I wish I was, Daine, I really do, but I'm not."

Kitten whistled quietly up at him and Red nuzzled his shoulder, and Jack felt more alone than he had in a long time. The dappled gelding lifted his head and shot a defensive glare at Daine.

She sighed and rose to squeeze Jack's other shoulder. "Alright," she almost whispered. "I'll stop. What did you think of what you saw of the castle?"

Jack rolled his eyes up at his horse, who huffed innocently and wandered off to graze. He smiled weakly at Daine, grateful despite himself for the subject change. "Impressive, since you don't know the science of tall buildings yet," he managed, collecting himself.

"I take offense to that," Numair remarked from his bedroll.

"Aren't you supposed to be napping?" Daine called over her shoulder.

"And leave you alone and defenseless with Captain Harkness? I don't think so," Numair scoffed. Jack snorted, vaguely amused, despite the fact that Numair had clearly eavesdropped on that entire conversation.

"We've already established that she doesn't want to run away with me," Jack told him dryly.

"Well, that was before she knew you really _could_ show her the stars," Numair pointed out, eyes just barely visible from beneath his blankets, his tousled dark hair wild on his head. Daine giggled.

"Go to sleep, dolt," she told him tenderly, and Numair grumbled.

"And now she tries to be rid of me!" he said dramatically, rolling over. "Alanna isn't confined to a bedroll."

"That's because Alanna would kill us all with her eyes, if told to sleep," George broke in, crashing through the woods with the scowling Lioness in tow.

"Numair expended more power than me," Alanna groused. "I was just the backup. Besides, I'm a trained knight: I practically live my life exhausted."

"That's not exactly encouraging, love," George told her dryly, and Daine and Jack shared an amused glance.

"What's for dinner?" Jack asked. Proudly, George held up a pheasant. "Mm," Jack said, shooing Kit from his lap to stand, and holding out a hand, offering to skin it, "Haven't had that in _ages_."

"Pheasant, really?" Alanna asked incredulously.

"They live in the woods," Jack shrugged, sitting down again to pluck the bird and offering the longest flight feathers to Kitten, who now sat next to him and rested her head adoringly on his knee, "when you live in a city, you don't see it much."

"You're right, actually," George replied thoughtfully. "When I lived in Corus, it was all mutton and chicken and pork. All farmed; nothing wild."

"Easier," Jack replied, shucking feathers. "Probably especially so, given you're Immortal problem."

"Yes," Alanna said, looking out into the woods. "We didn't run into anything nasty, but there were a few worrying footprints, Daine."

"Looked like Coldfangs," George muttered.

"What?" Jack asked.

"Coldfangs," Numair explained from his bedroll. "They hunt thieves. They're reptilian in shape and form, excellent trackers, and they can drop the temperature. They're also venomous."

"The Thieves' Nightmare," George elaborated darkly. "They used to whisper stories of them in the Dancing Dove, late at night to scare the kiddies."

"Oh," Jack said, not quite knowing how to respond. "That sounds nasty."

"They are," Daine replied grimly. "But what were they doing _here_? There aren't any thieves about."

George raised an eyebrow, but Daine waved him away. "You know what I mean," she muttered.

Alanna shrugged. "Hunting, maybe," the knight suggested. "There might be bandits about, you never know. Maybe they were making a nest."

"_Do_ they make nests?" George asked and Alanna shrugged again, glancing at Daine.

"I have no idea," Daine said thoughtfully.

There was a short silence, and Jack began to gut the bird. "Next time," he announced after a moment, looking down at his bloody fingers, "I'm hunting. I'm tired of skinning things."

Daine looked green, but Alanna grinned at him. "Be my guest," the lady knight agreed. "You and I will go together. You should learn how to track Immortals, anyway. It's a useful skill."

What I should do, Jack thought wryly to himself, is program my wrist strap to scan for them. _That_ would be really helpful. Instead he said, "Yeah, alright."

"Should I be worried?" George asked dryly. Maturely, Alanna stuck her tongue out at her husband. Daine laughed.

"Jack's been nothing but a gentleman," she assured him, eyes dancing. "You have nothing to worry about, George."

"Thank you, Daine," Jack said with an intentionally comical leer, so that everyone laughed.

It was good to hear their laughter, Jack thought, spirits improving. He really did like these people, which was dangerous. It was too late now to do anything about it, short of leaving, and he had no plans to go off-planet until he fixed these Gates. Even without the agreeable Tortallans, the gods here had bribed him well.

And Owen was here. Owen might've been a pain in the ass, but there was no denying Jack's affection for the man. Jack speared the pheasant and set it over the fire.

"We have a while before dinner'll be ready," he said after the laughter had died. "And you can't beat stories around a campfire. Anyone have anything good?"

Kitten sat up with a cheep, clearly delighted at the thought of a story.

"George, you tell one," Alanna said, waving her hand. "I feel like I always tell the same ones at court functions."

"This isn't a court function," Jack exclaimed, affronted. "Do you honestly think that I belong in a court? Then again," and here he grinned charmingly at Daine, "there are rewards for that sort of thing."

"You dog," Numair laughed and Daine glared at him.

"This coming from you!" she scolded and then winked at Jack. "Numair used to go through the court ladies like water," Daine added conspiratorially.

Numair spluttered indignantly and Jack laughed. "Knew I liked you," he said, grinning at the flustered mage.

"Tell them a story, George," Numair finally managed to get out, "before Daine starts revealing embarrassing tales from my younger years."

"His younger years being last year and the year before," Daine snickered. "But I haven't heard any stories from you recently, George."

"Fair enough." The former thief hummed thoughtfully. "You know I used to live down in Corus when I was a lad," George started and Jack nodded.

"Alanna said that you were the king of thieves, once upon a time." Jack could not hide his interest. It was an awfully romantic thought, a king of thieves, but he was discovering that Tortall was like that – all knights and chivalry and mages. He really could learn to love this place, Jack thought with not a small amount of fear.

"Did she now?" George's hazel eyes rolled to Alanna, but he smiled, and didn't seem angry. "Let's see then. D'you want the story of how I went crooked, or the story of how I went straight?"

That was a familiar request. Jack smiled. "I know how you went straight. You went straight the same way I went straight, I imagine – met a few people who changed your outlook. Let's hear how you went crooked."

"That's a fair assessment," George replied, with a soppy look to his Lioness. He turned back to Jack. "Alright then." He stretched and then looked up at the sky, where the sun was starting to set.

"Ain't a nice story, really," the Baron warned. Jack watched Numair roll over in his bedroll so that the mage faced them, intrigued with the story. Kitten snuggled into Jack's lap and Jack, surprised, curled an arm around the little dragon.

"The true ones rarely are," Jack returned, and George shrugged and began.

It _was_ an unpleasant story, really, although Jack sympathized, and George really was a fantastic storyteller. He spoke of being a petty thief, little more than a pickpocket, before being swept up in some sort of gang warfare. He saved the life of a young noble lady and earned himself the enmity of the man who had wanted to rape her – luckily, that man was wanted by the previous King of the Rogue, and by killing him George won favor. He talked about internal politics, and the situation that allowed him to sneak up on the King one night and slit his throat in a political move that crowned George the King of the Rogue at the tender age of seventeen. Jack was rather impressed, truth be told.

"I ain't never felt guilty for it," George said with an offhand shrug, "they're all murderers and thieves down there. From the bottom lookin' up, it's the way of the world. Business." He shrugged again. Daine shuddered.

"I can't even imagine," she said quietly. "We had gangs and such in Snowsdale, but they were hardly better than bandits."

"All those I harmed would've harmed me right back in return," George told Daine firmly. "Fair's fair, even down in the Lower City."

Alanna rubbed his arm, clear acceptance on her face. Her husband didn't hide from her, Jack could see, and knowing that he had killed at least two men did not seem to bother the Lioness at all. Briefly, he envied such closeness. "Not many honorable thieves out there," she said.

"Hardly call it honor," George told her dryly. "Sentimentality, is what it is. Still, got me far in life, so I can't complain." He smiled tenderly down at his wife.

"It's a familiar story," Jack said quietly, and memories swam like tears in front of his eyes. "You never try to hurt the innocent ones; that was always one of my rules, too." He smiled, but it was sad. "Never really turns out that way, though, does it? They're always the first to go." He shooed a sleepy Kitten out of his lap and poked at the bird. "Looks like dinner's ready."

"Aye, it does feel that way," George agreed regretfully, leaning over to help Jack take the pheasant off the fire. "Every so often you get lucky, though," he added, hazel eyes sharp on Jack's blue ones. "That's what you gotta remember—you think of the ones you saved, rather than the ones you lost."

Jack's breath caught, and he almost dropped the bird in the fire. "Yeah," he managed to rasp. Millions of children, at the cost of one little boy. Jack swallowed, banished the memory, and helped cut the pheasant.

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Please leave a review!!


	8. Chapter 7

"I have a thought," Rikash stated into the darkness.

"Really? I'm so glad," Ianto replied dryly. "Do share."

The Stormwing jostled Ianto a bit for his sarcasm. "What would happen if we just expected to find the Realms of the Dead?"

"_Your_ Realms of the Dead," Ianto reminded him. "I thought you weren't allowed."

"I'm not. Maybe you could vouch for me." The Stormwing looked down at him, bones clicking lightly in his hair.

"Maybe I don't belong there, either," Ianto pointed out, looking back up at him. Rikash scowled.

"Well, I'm getting bored," he complained, looking away and fanning his wings to glide. "I want to try something else."

Ianto sighed and kicked his legs thoughtfully, swinging a little on his orange bungee cable. "What would your Realms of the Dead look like?" he asked, thinking that if he was going to try to find it then he might as well know what to expect.

The Stormwing shrugged; Ianto could feel it through the cable. "Well, that's helpful," Ianto said dryly and then squawked in surprise.

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George Cooper had the Sight.

It wasn't something he advertised, although it was reasonably well known nowadays. It had helped, in his days as the Rogue, and it helped now as King Jon's Spymaster.

Jack Harkness was interesting because he was blocked from George's Sight. The man was a golden blur and if he appeared in George's dreams at all, it was briefly, and drowned out by a howling wolf.

Alanna had explained this, of course. Jack was immortal though some sort of accident with a goddess called Bad Wolf. Perhaps that was what George saw in his dreams.

Tonight, full from a warm dinner and content with his wife in his arms, George fell easily into sleep but his dreams were not easy.

There was a woman sitting in darkness – she looked like a Yamani, but that wasn't quite right. She had no body, and she rested in peace. There were images that flickered – she died of some kind of wound from a man who betrayed Jack, a golden blur. She was a genius.

The dream melted into more darkness and suddenly there was a Stormwing, flying through nothing and going nowhere. George appeared in front of the creature and realized that there was a man sitting on an orange rope that hung from the Immortal's legs.

"Oh!" cried the Stormwing, startled, back winging frantically although he was going nowhere. The man on the sling yelped and grasped at the cord. "Rikash!" he scolded as the rope swung precariously with the Stormwing's sudden movement. The Stormwing banked, not responding, and hovered in front of George. The man on the rope stared.

"That's different," he muttered, blinking at George.

"Hello," said George, confused. The fact that they could see him was surprising – very often he saw things in his dreams but did not interact with them. Nevertheless, there was no cause to be unfriendly.

"And—who would you be?" the man in the sling demanded, eyebrows at his hairline.

"That's George Cooper, Baron of Pirate's Swoop," the Stormwing answered slowly, watching George with green, green eyes. "And it's very, very upsetting that I know that."

He recognized the face, suddenly, and surprise raised the small hairs at the back of his neck. "You're—Daine's Rikash," George said carefully. "You died in the Immortal's war." He thought uncomfortably of a certain Duke who had once returned from the beyond, but kept his face straight. Dead things were meant to stay dead, as far as he was concerned. It didn't necessarily do to tell dead people that though, George thought with humor.

"Yes," Rikash agreed. "Are you dead, too? We're looking for the Realms of the Dead."

"No." George shook his head, baffled. "You're lost?"

"You're alive?" the man on the orange rope asked urgently, sitting up straighter in his sling and fixing George with sharp eyes. "How is it that you're here? Can we follow you out?"

"I don't think so," George replied and watched carefully for a reaction. There wasn't one, or didn't seem to be, although George had quite a lot of experience reading expressions. The man - and he was young, George thought, in his early twenties - kept his face calm, although the disappointment was there in his eyes. "Who are you?"

"Ianto, Ianto Jones," the man introduced himself. He sat up straighter in his sling. "I'm looking for a Jack Harkness, have you heard of him?"

"Oh honestly," the Stormwing muttered. "Do you think of nothing else?"

"Mind like a train," Ianto Jones replied, deadpan, and didn't move his eyes from George.

George blinked a little. He didn't understand the reference, but thought better of asking. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I have heard of him. We're traveling together."

Ianto sat back in his sling and rolled his eyes. "Of course you are," he said flatly, but there was a strange note in his voice that told George what the man thought _traveling_ meant.

George snorted. "None o' that," he said shortly. "I'm a married man."

"You clearly haven't met Jack then," Ianto muttered dryly.

"I don't even want to know, why do you insist on telling me things I don't want to know?" Rikash lamented in a long-suffering voice.

"I hear tell the man's immortal," George interrupted carefully, watching for a reaction.

"He's what now?" Rikash asked, looking down at Ianto in surprise.

"He can't die," Ianto stated flatly and he watched George right back; apparently Jack's immortality wasn't news. Now that was interesting. "He told you?"

"I found out," George replied grimly. Ianto Jones tensed in his sling.

"You killed him," the man growled. George huffed.

"I'm appalled you'd think so lowly of me," he said loftily although he continued to watch for a reaction. Ianto Jones was hard to read, a calm face with guarded eyes. Rather like Jack, really, although Jack hid behind a smile. George understood Jack at a level he could not explain; Ianto Jones, however, was not so easy to read. "I just said I was traveling with him - why would that mean I'd tried to kill him? No, lad. My wife and friends saw him die and then come back."

Ianto winced a little, but kept himself under control. "I see. My apologies. Where is he?" he added, and his voice took on an urgent note. "There was an old woman, trying to use me as a bargaining piece-"

George raised his eyebrows. "So you are that Ianto."

"You know of her, then?" the man asked firmly.

"Aye, I do," George replied. "But more importantly, I think you should know that Jack is in Tortall, and not the land where you came from." George wasn't much for superstition, but gods were gods - he didn't think saying a god's name here would have any ill effect, but it was best not to risk it.

Ianto narrowed his eyes and asked a question he seemed to know was obvious. "You don't work for Torchwood, do you?"

"I don't work for what?" George replied, question for question, although Alanna had explained a little about this Torchwood to him.

"Torchwood," Ianto repeated. "But if you haven't heard of it—and if you come from Rikash's world…" he glanced up at the Stormwing who shrugged down at him.

"Your Jack Harkness not where you thought he'd be?" Rikash added mildly, and Ianto glared.

He turned back to George, eyes hard and determined. "Where is Tortall?" he asked.

"It's a country," George replied, bemused. "On the coast, bordering Scanra, Galla, Tusaine and Trya. I'm the Baron—"

"—Of Pirate's Swoop, yes, I remember," Ianto repeated, waving away George's explanation. George smiled a little at the young man's impertinence – this one had spirit. "But why is Jack no longer with Torchwood?"

George shrugged. "He ran away, I think," he said.

"Jack doesn't _run away_," Ianto snapped, affronted. "He's the bravest man I know."

"I don't think it was a question of bravery, lad," George said darkly. Ianto gave his a quizzical look, but something strange happened before he could reply.

"Baron—" Ianto started in alarm and George noticed his voice fading. Ah, he thought. Time to wake up, then. He gave the boy a reassuring smile as the darkness of the strange nowhere-land began to wash out, taking the boy and the Stormwing with it. George expected to open his eyes to daylight but he found himself instead standing in a land of endless light, rather than endless darkness.

He blinked.

Gainel, god of dreams, was in front of George, who was now standing somewhere that was not where he had been before.

The Baron raised his eyebrows.

_-A gift—_the Dream God said. _–More for Harkness than for yourself, you understand, but you can take it as such, George Cooper.—_

"I don't think Jack'll take this gift very well," George said dryly, remembering Alanna's story about the old Hag of Graveyards and Jack falling to pieces. Gainel chuckled.

_-No, I imagine not. But he must know that Ianto Jones searches for him. Jones is out of my jurisdiction, Baron.—_The Dream God fixed George with liquid eyes. _–However, I believe that he is the key to the Gates that Jack Harkness so desperately needs. My brother the Sun God disagrees, but has allowed me to do this, after much persuasion. Your next sleep, you will tell Ianto Jones of your mission. –_

"And in return?" George asked, crossing his arms. "I know how to make a bargain with a god, with all due respect, your worship."

_-In return, I think you might gain a friend, Cooper. All the same, I will trade this for a few restful nights for your Lioness the next time she is aboard a ship. My sister, the Threefold Goddess, tells me that she gets quite seasick.—_

George regarded the god. The information was no skin off his nose, really, and after what his Lioness had told him, he rather thought Jack could use all the help he could get. He'd never made a bargain with the dream god before – all his bargains in the past had been with Kyprioth, the Trickster, who always had an ulterior motive.

"How do I know you're not tricking me?" George asked with narrowed eyes.

_-It is a simple task with a simple reward, Cooper. If you do not oblige, I will go to the mage Salmalin. I have dealt with him before. You are simply easier, due to your Sight.— _The god told him sternly.

George shrugged. "Very well, Highness. Two weeks rest on ships for my Lioness, spread out over the course of her life. She does get seasick."

_-Good. Tread carefully with Harkness, Baron. Good luck— _The world faded from white to dark again and then to dark shot with red: the backs of George's eyelids. He blinked, waking.

* * *

"Jack!"

Jack sat bolt upright, startled at the voice. He was—he was at his desk? He laid his palms flat on the battered, familiar wood, looking in surprise at the knickknacks he had around the edges. His expression must have communicated something because a voice caught his attention before he could pick anything up.

"Don't be stupid, Jack," Owen snapped, standing in the doorway of Jack's office. He waved his hand around, indicating Torchwood at large. "It blew up, remember?"

Jack's palms slipped to his side. He was dreaming. Of course. "Right," he said slowly and then looked up at Owen. "I think I'd rather wake up outside," Jack told him plaintively. "This is—too familiar."

Owen looked at him for a moment and then sighed, coming to sit at the chair on the other side of Jack's desk. "It sort of is," he agreed uneasily. "I ended up standing next to the autopsy table." He shivered, looking unhappy.

"Sorry," Jack muttered, as if it was his fault. Who knew, he thought darkly. It might be. "Shall we venture to the surface, then?" he asked, rising.

"I think so," Owen agreed emphatically. Jack walked out of the dream version of his office, resisting the urge to look back. Owen strode at his heels. They went down a rickety flight of stairs and out to the cog door, passing Gwen, Tosh and Susie's desks, all empty, of course. Jack caught a glimpse of the coffee machine and looked away quickly, thinking of Ianto. It got worse, though: from the cog door, they went up through the passageway and into the tourist office, which was Torchwood's cover. Ianto's desk was impeccably clean—except whatever cruel god made these dreams had left a coffee stain there. Jack swallowed a lump in his throat, moving on. At last, they reached the dock, but the memories were thick there, too. Jack strode past, brushing them away – Ianto Jones, twenty-two, so desperate for a job that he waited for Jack with a cup of heavenly coffee held like an offering.

Torchwood was like a graveyard too, Jack thought sadly, leading Owen up to the Millennium Center. They both stood in the bright sunlight under the monument, breathing a little heavily.

"What've you got for me?" Jack asked after a moment. Owen was lost in his own thoughts, it seemed, because Jack had to repeat himself.

"George Cooper has the Sight," Owen stated reluctantly after a moment. "I could talk to him, if you wanted me to."

"The Sight?" Jack asked and Owen shrugged.

"He's, I dunno, more open to things. He sees clearly."

"That's scientific," Jack groused and Owen glared. A breeze from the quay ruffled through Jack's hair. It smelled like salt and home. He ignored it.

"I'm not dealing with science, in case you haven't noticed, Harkness," Owen growled. "It certainly beats the bloody fairies."

Jack rolled his eyes. "The fae are—"

"Never mind, never mind, I know," Owen muttered, waving a hand. "Just watch out for Cooper. He's sharp."

Jack grinned suddenly, fondly. "I think I remember telling you the same thing, once. Do you think it's ironic that George has Gwen's last name?"

"I think it's meaningless," Owen said dismissively.

"Of course it's meaningless, I asked you if it was ironic, not the answer to life."

"Yeah, fine, sure, whatever," Owen muttered and Jack rolled his eyes again. "Anyway, I think my mate Gainel might be making a bargain with Cooper. Just a head's up."

Jack sighed. "You have no sense of humor," he told Owen dryly.

"Yeah? Neither do you."

"Point." Jack looked up at the monument. "I used to have one."

"And then everyone died. That's what always happens, Harkness."

"Thanks, Owen." Jack's voice was sarcastic, and Owen's response was equally so.

"Anytime."

* * *

There was a Girl in Daine's dream.

"Bad Wolf," Daine greeted her and smiled crookedly. She knew this goddess – she was in the shape of a blonde girl, glowing golden, and tears made tracks down her cheeks. Rose Tyler had looked into the heart of Time, and so this moment existed for eternity.

"I take the words," the goddess agreed, "I scatter them through time and space. A message, to lead myself here."

_Rose, you've got to stop this. You've got to stop this now! You've got the entire vortex runnin' through your head—you're gonna burn!_

Daine sighed. The second voice was that of the Doctor, a friend of Jack's once upon a time. "What do you want to tell me?" she asked the Girl, although she knew by now that the Girl would probably not respond in any way that was helpful.

"I want you safe," the Girl said softly. "Protected from the false god."

_You cannot hurt me; I am immortal!_

That was a third voice, and Daine whipped around, but, as always, she could see nothing but the Girl.

"You are tiny," the Bad Wolf warned. "I can see the whole of Time and Space. All things—everything dies!"


	9. Chapter 8

Thanks again to all my reviewers, you're the best! No Ianto in this chapter I'm afraid; we had dreams last time and now everyone's awake. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Daine woke at dawn, starting in her bedroll.

_I want you safe. Protected. _The words rang golden in her mind and she rubbed her eyes, trying to get rid of an awful headache. She recognized those words and that voice – it was the Bad Wolf, the goddess from her dreams.

Something dark and muddy was sneaking along the edges of her perception. She reached out to it, sitting up and looking around. Numair's arm slipped from around her shoulders, thumping softly onto the bedroll.

_Surprise!/fear/run_

Daine blinked, and the feeling was gone.

"Sweet?" She'd woken Numair. He blinked up at her, hair tousled and dark eyes groggy. She smiled ruefully down at him.

"Sorry, love," she murmured, gently running her hand through his hair, frizzed from the pillow. "I seem to be waking you up a lot."

The mage yawned hugely and leaned into her hand. "I'm used to it by now," he replied softly. "What was it this time?"

"A warning, I think," Daine said, looking out into the woods and rubbing behind Numair's ear with her thumb. "I think the Bad Wolf was warning me." Numair hummed for a moment at her touch before shaking her off gently.

"About?" He sat up and wrapped both arms around her middle, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"I don't know." She leaned back and smiled at him, affectionately watching his eyes light at her expression.

"You have no sense of humor," Jack's voice rang out randomly, and they both jumped a little and turned toward their friend, curled fast asleep in his bedroll. Kitten jerked awake from where she slept at Jack's feet. She huffed at him irritably.

"So says you," George muttered, sitting up as well. He looked over and smiled in greeting to Daine and Numair. "G'morning," he said.

"'Lo, George," Daine replied, echoed by Numair. Kit cheeped at him. Four sets of eyes went to Alanna, nothing more than a tuft of red hair poking out of her and George's bedroll.

There was a whisper on Daine's senses again and she gently pulled herself from Numair's arms. Frowning, she looked around.

_Here/here/quick/food?/maybe/careful-!_

"I think we have company," Daine whispered, and started to rise. Numair shook off the blankets and began to roll up their bed, and George turned to wake Alanna. Jack, hearing the scuffle, opened his eyes drowsily.

"Whass th' rush?" he slurred, still half asleep.

"I think I might've just found your weevils," Daine murmured darkly, and Jack sat up like a shot.

"Where?" he asked grimly, reaching for his revolver. Daine knelt on one knee beside him, placing her hand on the barrel of the weapon, lowering it. Kitten sat up too, looking around anxiously.

"Wait," she whispered. "I can hear them."

Jack nodded and stood up with her.

The two mages, the knight, the Baron and the immortal man stood still and silent. The five horses were instantly awake, ears pricked forward and snorting uneasily. The birds were not chirping. Kitten growled softly at Jack's feet, but Daine hushed her before reaching with her magic.

Who's there? she called, as loudly as she could.

_Heard that/yes/who/where?_

"They're—" Daine bit her lip. They spoke quickly and with many voices, replies overlapping questions. It sounded as if they were one animal broken up into many, and then smashed back together. "You said they were telly-pathic," she whispered to Jack.

"Telepathic, yes," Jack replied softly, muscles tense, head high and looking around. The dragon remained crouched at his feet, teeth bared. "Low level. They can feel each other, I think."

"They can," Daine whispered back. "It sounds like there are a lot of them, all speaking at once—it's confusing, and nothing like I've ever—"

_There he is/there/there!/others?/eat?/there/there/there! _

Daine opened her mouth to yell a warning, but Jack reacted before any of them even moved: something brown and fierce charged out of the woods and he ducked, rolling out of the way. The horses reared and bolted and Kitten shrieked in fright, lunged for the bedrolls, hiding under them, trembling.

It was man shaped, Daine thought dimly, except its four fingers were knarled and dark. Its skin was the color of tree bark, eyes deep set and beady. There was only a sparse sprinkling of hair on its brown, deeply grooved scull. Jack had been right, its teeth were vicious—she could see four primary canines on the lower jaw, long and wickedly curved, and she did not doubt that they were sharp.

Daine lunged for her bow and black, glittering fire whispered around Numair's hands. She heard Alanna go for her sword and George threw a warning knife that thudded into a tree.

_Food?/yes/hunt!_

"No, stop!" Daine shouted and the creatures fell back, staring at her. There were four of them in a loose circle around the humans.

_Call?/speech?/who?/hungry!/with HIM/ food/hunt!_

"No," Daine repeated, stepping forward and lowering her bow.

"Daine," Jack warned, and she heard Numair whisper a prayer behind her.

"If you hurt us, we'll have to hurt you," Daine told them softly.

_Hurt them/yes/hungry_

"Daine, they respond to power—" Jack hissed.

"We are not food," Daine asserted, taking Jack's words to heart. She understood this kind of game, for all that she disliked it; many of her other animal friends lived in such a steep hierarchy as well. "So back off."

_What/why/who?_

"_Stand down!" _Daine growled and they flinched, backing away. The largest one gave a long, low moan, like a cow or a buck, and the others responded.

_Too much/too strong/not good_

"What are they doing?" Alanna whispered. She had her sword out, her stance ready, but her eyes darted in confusion from one weevil to another. They were bowing and retreating, lowing like cattle, as though they were injured.

"Yes, yes, Daine!" Jack enthused, voice low. "That's exactly what they did for Owen! They're submitting. Can you ask them how they got here?"

Daine bit her lip. She didn't think she'd harmed them, but they sounded like they were in pain. "How did you come to be here?" she demanded, voice harsh, but she watched them uneasily.

_Follow/the rift/we are hungry/so hungry_

"Rift?" Daine asked, confused. The lowing stopped and the largest growled, eyeing her as she showed them confusion rather than dominance.

"Daine," Jack warned.

"Explain yourselves!" Daine demanded, forcing them with her power. The weevils cringed again, lowing. "What rift?"

_The Big Place/stone walls/lots of prey/darkness/Bronze light /anywhere we want_

"Cardiff," Jack whispered. "It must be. A rift in time and space? Daine?"

"The Big Place," Daine told him, biting her lip, utterly confused. The weevils all spoke together, slightly out of synchrony, and it was hard to distinguish what they were saying. "Somewhere with stone walls and flashing light? Lots of prey, they say. In the darkness."

"In the sewers," Jack whispered. "Why are they here?"

"Well?" Daine asked, turning back to them. Her voice was hard. "Why are you here?"

_Thingsdienearhim/HUNGRY_

Daine took a step back from the force of their thought, gasping and as though sensing her weakness they lunged. Jack was fast, faster than Daine had imagined. He darted to one side and grabbed one of the weevils by the neck, wrenching it around, giving Daine time to leap back and draw her bow. Numair's magic flared beside her; two weevils went down. Alanna lunged at the last, fighting it off with a slash of her sword, ripping through the strange leathery fabric it wore as clothing. Dark blood welled up and the creature turned tail and fled, howling like a wolf; Jack's weevil struggled, tossing him to and fro and the four two-leggers rushed to help.

"I need a tranquilizer!" Jack gasped, managing to get his hand over the creature's eyes. It bellowed and slashed with its teeth; Daine feared to draw her bow lest she hit Jack but Alanna leaped into the fray without hesitation, slashing with her sword, and Daine could see where this battle was going.

"_STOP!_" she thundered, throwing all her will behind it. The weevil froze. Jack took a step back, breathing heavily and Alanna went still, coiled like a spring with her sword arm extended, the point inches away from the weevil's throat.

"Is everyone alright?" Jack asked, glancing back at the others. Daine did not take her eyes from the now submitting creature, and she did not relax until she heard the assent from all of her friends. Alanna was not even out of breath, voice flat as she affirmed that she was unharmed. She kept the weevil at sword point.

"Why are you _here_?" Daine demanded, glaring at the creature and holding it tightly to her will. If it broke free Alanna would kill it without hesitation, and Daine did not want that. The creature watched her with strange dark eyes. It gave a low moan, backing away from Alanna.

_Everything dies so we eat it/so hungry/my brothers, don't hurt my brothers!_

"Numair, did you kill them?" Daine asked, eyes never leaving the weevil.

"No, they're asleep," he replied.

"Good. Jack, he says he's here because everything dies?" She watched the weevil's strangely hypnotic eyes, and the creature lowed again.

_No/we follow him/ death follows him/we follow death_

"Everything—dies?" Alanna asked slowly.

"No," Jack whispered, his voice suddenly horrified, as he reached the same conclusion as Daine.

"Jack," Daine said slowly, "Jack, I think he's saying he followed _you._"

Jack took a step away. "N-no," he stuttered. "Impossible. Impossible!"

"Easy now," George said and although Daine could not see him she knew he'd put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Explain that again, lass."

"Show me," Daine demanded of the weevil, crouching down next to where he bowed. He flinched away. "Show me!"

_We/all/know/him—_

Images flashed before her eyes: Jack, in a different coat, looking young, so young. _Wait till I find the Doctor, he'll put this right. I'm the man who can never die. Torchwood: outside the government, beyond the police. The Doctor said I'm a fixed point in time and space… one hundred years of loyal service… _

Images flashed by and Daine watched a city, impossibly advanced, rise around Jack: he never changed, except for the clothes, but around him, always—

"Death," Daine whispered. "They think you bring death."

She heard Jack give a choked gasp from behind her.

"You're wrong," she told the weevil fiercely, angry on behalf of her hurting friend. "He doesn't bring death, and he doesn't bring food. Get out of here, go!" She advanced on him furiously and the weevil lowed, leaping to his feet and running off.

"Daine, we were supposed to catch them," Alanna said wretchedly, but Daine hardly heard her. She spun to Jack.

George had a supporting arm around him, but Jack's eyes had gone cold. He was shaking, face pale and blank. "I have to leave," he whispered, unseeing. "I have to go—"

"Don't be stupid," Daine told him. She walked right up to him, fists on her hips and then pulled him into her arms, the whole stupid mass of him.

"D-Daine, you need to—"

"_You_ need to fix our Gates, remember?" Daine told him firmly.

"You—you can—Daine, if I bring death—not here, not here too—"

"You do not bring death, you dolt!" she cried, pulling back. Jack watched her with wide eyes and he stood still, as though his sanity depended on what she would say next. It was unnerving, and his eyes were very blue.

"They _think_ you bring death," she told him urgently. "They don't see time the same way that we do, they don't see people the same way we do. Jack, you're immortal. If you stay in one place too long, everyone's going to die, just of old age. Those weevils, they don't see the time, they only see the death. They see everyone dying around you," and here she hugged him tightly, "and they think you're the cause. You're _not_, time is."

"I'm sure I don't help!" Jack snarled, trying to wrench away. Daine held him tighter and Numair, standing slightly behind and to the left of her, laid a firm hand on Jack's shoulder, Alanna at his back, so they surrounded the frantic man.

"You do help," the mage told him quietly. Jack looked desperately over Daine's shoulder and into his eyes. Daine could not see Numair, but she knew the compassionate expression on his face by his tone. "You're trying to fix our Gate, aren't you? And if I understand you correctly, your Torchwood was an institution to _protect_ people. It was, wasn't it?"

Jack stood stock still, shaking. It seemed the name of his old workplace had stunned him, if only for a moment. Daine rubbed his arm. "C'mon, then, Jack," she said quietly. "Let's get some food into you, mm? We're going to have to hunt down those two that got away."

* * *

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	10. Chapter 9

Their support was intoxicating.

He'd fled from Gwen, the last surviving member of Torchwood after everything, fearing the sadness in her eyes and her sympathy. Jack hadn't wanted to drag it out; Gwen, too, would die one day, and he could not bear it. The past was past, just as he'd told Daine the night before. If he'd learned anything, it was that he had to move on. He had to keep on moving, or it'd catch up to him.

And it did. Hell, did it ever. Ianto's ghost chased weevils through these woods, and Jack's grandson stood next to Kitten with blood running from his nose and ears, all Jack's fault. Tosh and Susie stood shoulder to shoulder, watching with accusing eyes, and whispers of his brother Gray stalked the shadows. Even Owen literally haunted his dreams.

But Jack, tactile by nature, was starved of friendly touch, and these four were clustered around him, all concern and support. No one had cared about Jack since he'd left Earth, since everyone died. By rights he should have felt smothered.

But Daine's shoulder was comfortable when she pulled him down to sit by the fire pit and Numair sat close enough on his other side to brush him every time the mage reached for something. Alanna had relit the fire and Kitten, wriggling from her hiding place, had curled in Jack's lap. George sat on Numair's other side, watchful. Owen was right, Jack thought, tamping down the hysterical urge to flee the planet—the man did have the Sight.

Jack stroked Kitten unhappily, collecting himself. "You're right about those weevils," he said hoarsely, after a moment, changing the subject before any of them could push farther. Alanna, in particular, was regarding him with a worrying mixture of compassion, curiosity, and frustration in her strangely colored eyes.

"Which?" Daine asked, putting some cheese on some bread and handing it to Jack.

"We need to find them." He took a bite out of the bread, not realizing his hungry he had been. He glanced at her, grateful that she allowed him to steer the conversation away from the terror he'd felt just moments before.

The terror he still felt, to be honest, because the weevils had it right; he did bring death. Torchwood protected people, it was true, but it also destroyed people, in the end. _Jack_ destroyed people, in the end.

He'd have to be careful. This closeness was dangerous, for all that it soothed something deep inside him.

Jack decided, guiltily, not to think about it. There were more important things to worry about at the moment, like the weevils and what they—_he_, what _he_ was going to do with them.

"Well, we've got two already," Numair said, indicating the two that he had put to sleep. "How's that holding cell of yours?"

"Unfinished," Jack murmured. He rose, away from the Tortallans and walked over to get the receptacle. Red had apparently picked his way back once the weevils had gone; now he stood by the saddlebags. As soon as Jack was near, he stepped forward and placed his nose firmly on Jack's chest, nickering. "I'm fine," Jack said, patting the gelding's cheek. "Really. I need to get to my bag."

The horse snorted and moved out of the way, but he stood with his neck over Jack's shoulder, breath warming Jack's face.

"I said I'm fine," Jack muttered, and Daine chuckled softly from the fire.

"He's worried, that's all," she smiled.

Jack muttered indistinctly to himself, and something akin to terror raced down his spine at the appreciation he felt for the concern. This damn planet, he thought, eyes prickling as he rummaged through the saddlebag. Gwen would've loved it here.

The thought amused him a little, as he grasped the storage receptacle. It hurt, but gently, in the way of good memories. Tosh and the others would've hated Tortall. No computers for Tosh, too kind a place for sarcastic Ianto and cynical Owen and bitter, mad Susie.

Then again, Owen seemed to be taking it rather well, if Jack's dreams were anything to go by. Jack headed back and squeezed himself in between Daine and Numair, appreciating the comfort they offered, before realizing belatedly that this was no way to distance himself. "Here," he said to Numair, tugging on a metal slat and exposing the circuitry beneath. "I still haven't got it working." He offered the little box to the mage, and Numair took it, humming a little as he turned it over in his hands. He shook his head after a moment, handing it back to Jack.

"I wouldn't know where to begin," the mage admitted, smiling sheepishly. His eyes glittered, though, clearly eager to learn.

That, Jack thought, was a brilliant opening. The best way to move on from grief: bury himself in work.

"Well then," Jack said, setting the contraption down between them. "I'll just have to explain it to you." He forced a bright grin.

Daine jostled his shoulder. "Should I be worried?" she teased gently, and Jack smiled back. The flirting came easily now, even though he suspected that his eyes were still red, and his face still felt gritty from his earlier despair.

"Only if you want to be," he joked, and Daine jostled him again.

It was a losing battle. He was already attached. Damn it all.

"What should we do about these?" Alanna asked, gesturing to the two weevils, out cold on the forest floor. Jack looked back at them, focusing on the task at hand.

"Do you have any rope?" he asked. George nodded, rising.

"You want to bind them?"

"Yes," Jack said, moving to follow. "Arms behind the back. There's a trick you could do—bind the arms high up and connect the rope around the neck, so if they struggle, they strangle themselves."

Daine frowned up at him. "That seems a little cruel."

"Your gods want me to kill them," Jack pointed out dryly, "Weevils are smart enough to figure out not to hurt themselves, and we need to control them. We haven't any holding cells, not yet. What is it you wanted to do with them?"

"We ought to show them to the king," Numair said, but Alanna growled.

"I'm not setting foot in that castle," she muttered.

"Even still," George agreed as Jack frowned, "there's dungeons aplenty in the castle, and we're gonna need 'em. We can't just keep these beasties tied up indefinitely, and the god's'll want them contained, at least, if not killed." He looked sharply at Jack.

Jack scowled, not liking the idea of returning to Corus, especially if the weevils were following him.

"Wouldn't it be better for me to lead them _away_ from a major city?" he asked, keeping his voice steady and sarcastic so he wouldn't break down again. Once was enough, Jack thought firmly. He had better control than that.

There was a silence.

"That's a good point, too," Numair conceded.

"I'm not killing them," Daine stated flatly. Jack looked down at the weevils, remembered Torchwood, the old Torchwood, before he was in charge, and shook his head in agreement.

"No," Jack said slowly. "I don't _want_ to kill them either, but if it comes to that, I will. Is there a fort or something nearby?"

Alanna bit her lip thoughtfully. "Irontown's not far, but it's a pretty small fief."

"Will they have dungeons?" Jack asked. Alanna nodded.

"Yes," she said. "Population's about five hundred, but there is a fort. Lord… "

"Gasarin, I think," George supplied when Alanna trailed off. "Decently sized place, that fort. Might not have the supplies for it, though."

"We can work on that," Jack sighed. "Can I see that rope?"

George waved him off. "I know the knot you're talking about. I can do it. Go talk to Numair about your—thing." He gestured to the little metal box, which Numair was holding. The mage was squinting at the wires within. Jack was forcibly reminded of the Doctor, and had to fight a smile. He sat down again next to the mage and held out a hand imperiously for the receptacle. Numair passed it over.

"Daine," Jack suggested, looking down to open the slot again so he could see the circuitry, "can you try to find out how many weevils there are in the general area? Maybe you and Alanna can keep guard." He sat down next to Numair.

"That's not a bad idea," Alanna said, looking out into the woods. Daine nodded.

"Alright," she agreed. And then, "Kit?"

The dragon shook her head emphatically and crouched closer to Jack.

"This isn't child's play," Jack warned the dragon. "It's real complicated stuff."

Kitten cheeped at him, not seeming to care. Jack narrowed his eyes and then shrugged. "Your funeral," he said, and then turned to Numair. "Right," he began. "The first thing you have to understand is the circuitry—"

* * *

Next chapter soon. Please leave a review! :)


	11. Chapter 10

George had the weevils tied and ready to go very quickly. He rose from his crouch and looked around, stretching cramped muscles. Daine was sitting cross-legged and quiet, meditating. His wife was walking in circles around the camp, warding them in against more unwelcome intruders while Numair, Jack and Kitten were bent over the small square machine. George suddenly found himself with nothing to do.

Well. Perhaps another conversation with one Ianto Jones was in order, he thought, moving to sit himself beside Daine. He took a deep breath.

Meditating was never really a strong point for George—he was more of a hands-on kind of fellow, and his Sight, while relatively strong, was not strong enough to merit study. He had never gone to school. As a matter of fact, what little of meditation he knew was taught to him by his mother when he was a child, and Numair, later into his adulthood.

Even still, he fell into it with reasonable ease, letting the darkness behind his eyelids melt into the dream-dark and the nothing of the realms between the worlds.

"Back so soon?" Ianto Jones's voice was sharp. George opened his metaphorical eyes. He was sitting cross legged on some kind of invisible platform, hovering beside the Stormwing Rikash as he flew. Ianto Jones was still perched in his sling, dangling from the Stormwing's claws. His left hand fisted around the orange rope and he leaned to the side, watching George keenly. The rest of the world around them was darkness.

"Well, we were so rudely interrupted before," George said wryly. Ianto's lips quirked, amused.

"This is rather unnerving," the Stormwing observed, looking down at George mistrustfully.

"It's contact," Ianto insisted, twisting around to look up at Rikash. "Which is better than what we had before." He turned back to George. This one was clever, George thought to himself, impressed with the intelligence in the young man's eyes. In the old days, in the Rogue, Ianto Jones could have been a prize—a spy, a pickpocket, the best informant you could have and loyal to boot, he was sure of it. A pity George was reformed, and a pity Jones was from the wrong world, he thought wryly. He could have used him, once upon a time. "You came looking for us this time, didn't you? How are you managing it?" Ianto asked.

"He's Gifted," Rikash stated before George could explain, and Ianto looked up again, glaring.

"Yes, thank you," he snapped, "That's not exactly the answer I was looking for."

Rikash rolled his eyes. "No, seriously, he's Gifted. From my world, you idiot. He has magic."

"Clearly," Ianto muttered skeptically. George suppressed a chuckle.

"The Sight, actually," he said mildly, amused by their banter. "I can See things, this being one of them. I have a deal with Gainel, our dream god," he added for Ianto's benefit.

Ianto looked at him blankly for a moment but then sighed. "I suppose if I accept that there's a Realms of the Dead in your world, I have to accept that there's a dream god, too. Polytheism, then," he muttered, looking up at Rikash. "Rather confusing, that."

"Not my gods, not my problem," the Stormwing replied dryly, and Ianto shook his head. He glanced back at George.

"What's your bargain, then?" he asked. "Are you going to help us?"

"Yes and no," George answered. "I don't know how it'll help, really. I think Jack might need you." He looked at Ianto sharply, assessing the younger man. The response to Jack's name was immediate; Ianto sat up straighter in his sling, eyes glinting with determination.

"Well then," he said. "Ianto Jones, reporting for duty, sir. Or is that Baron?" He tilted his head a little, and George guffawed.

"Just George will do, Ianto Jones," he smiled. Trickster's teeth, he _liked_ the boy, George thought, amused.

"Alright then, sir," Ianto replied, prim and proper, and George chuckled again. Ianto was looking at him expectantly, so George, as promised to Gainel, began to explain. He settled against his invisible platform.

"My world," he began, "is apparently in a pocket, separated from the rest of the universe…"

* * *

"So, basically," Rikash interrupted the middle of George's explanation, much to Ianto's irritation. "Your Jack Harkness is looking for the Guardian of the Gates, or at least a way to close said Gates."

"Yes," George replied easily, apparently unoffended at the interjection. "Although to be quite honest I haven't a clue where to start looking for such a thing."

"Your dream god wants us to look," Ianto deduced. George blinked at him, as though the thought hadn't occurred to him.

"I—would imagine he does, at that," he agreed slowly. "I hadn't thought of it. He said that he suspects you're the key, Master Jones." George's eyes glinted brightly. He'd taken to calling Ianto 'master,' as though in retaliation for Ianto's polite 'sir.' Ianto wasn't really sure how he felt about it, although there was clear amusement in the Baron's expression.

"That's helpful," Ianto muttered sarcastically, frowning thoughtfully. "And you say Jack has a bargain of his own?"

"Yes," George replied.

"And you have no idea what Jack gains from that bargain?" Ianto asked. He already knew the answer, really – Jack kept his cards frustratingly close, and he was very good at manipulation.

"I don't, actually," George murmured, looking concerned. Ianto nodded to himself.

"Somehow I'm not surprised," he said dryly. "Tell me, sir, what do _I_ gain from this bargain?"

"Dunno," George shrugged. "You said you want to help Jack."

"I'd say I'm loyal to him to the grave, but that would be unhelpful," Ianto drawled. Above him, Rikash snorted a little, although he said nothing. "But I _am_ loyal to him, dead or not. If you ask me to help on his behalf, I will. _However_," Ianto specified, face hard with determination, "I would quite like to benefit, myself. You go back to your gods and tell them that Rikash and I want to be brought back to life. Because _this_—" he waved his hand around to indicate the darkness, "it a shitty afterlife, if you'll pardon my language."

"I do believe that you're not part of our gods' jurisdiction," George said slowly, but Ianto waved that away.

"Paperwork and rules: I can get around that," he replied. He knew everything, after all, Ianto thought wryly. "I worked in an office for years – I'm good at red tape. I also know my mythology. It's not your mythology, but I'm sure it's close. I am _willing _to make this bargain—that's not something you get often."

"I am as well," Rikash agreed, after a moment, "Although I'm likely going to regret it. Anything to get out of here. Well, almost," he amended.

George nodded. "I'll tell Gainel," he said slowly, "the next time I speak with him. Perhaps he can strike a bargain with you as well."

"Good," Ianto nodded. "Is there anything else?"

"You know anything about containing weevils?" George asked dryly and Ianto's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Quite a lot, actually," he replied cautiously. "I know an overwhelming amount of information on the subject, in fact."

"Containing _what_?" Rikash demanded, looking down in confusion.

"Weevils, don't worry about it," Ianto told the Stormwing offhandedly. Rikash huffed at the dismissal. Ianto turned back to George. "You have them as well?"

"Daine—one of my traveling companions—just enlightened us," George sighed. "Apparently they follow your Jack."

Ianto blinked in surprise, although a small tingle of joy and sorrow trickled down his spine. _His _Jack. "They follow Jack?" He didn't like the sound of that. "Why?"

"They see that people around him die," George explained. Ianto paled, despite the fact that he was dead.

"Not through his fault," he insisted loyally. That would break Jack, he thought, alarmed. If Jack thought he brought death, it would destroy him, Ianto knew that much. Or, well, he thought he knew that much anyway.

"No," George agreed. "Apparently they don't see time the way we do."

Ianto's heart wrenched. "So they see everyone around him dying, of old age, and him staying the same, so they think that's the cause?" Oh, poor Jack, he thought sympathetically, suddenly wanting badly to offer comfort to his very absent lover. Well, that certainly wasn't going to happen, he told himself viciously and banished the feeling. He frowned. "How does—Daine, you said?—know this?"

"If they're animals, she can talk to them," Rikash informed Ianto grimly. Ianto looked up at him.

"She talks to animals," he said flatly. And then he added, rolling his eyes, "Right, right, your world of magic."

"My world of magic," Rikash agreed, sneering. "She's a Godborn."

_Godborn. _Ianto remembered that word, from when he was briefly brought back to life by that goddess. The dark haired man had gasped out—he'd said "Daine."

"This Daine of yours," he started slowly, looking at George and then up at Rikash, "Curly hair? Pretty?"

"You know her?" George asked. He arched an eyebrow.

"Saw her, for a moment," Ianto murmured. "That means you're traveling with—that dark haired man, tall, and the short redhead."

"The short redhead happens to be my wife," George said wryly.

"Numair Salmalin and Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau," Rikash supplied and Ianto glanced up at him thoughtfully.

"Names," Ianto whispered, almost to himself. His gut told him there was something important here, some vital piece of information that he didn't have. "Names, names…"

"Lots of things you could do with a name," George murmured. "With a name and a focus, you could find someone."

"How?" Ianto asked immediately, but his voice echoed into darkness, because George had suddenly vanished. He felt a moment of alarm, but Rikash hummed thoughtfully, seeming unfazed. That was normal, then? He supposed that George had disappeared suddenly last time, as well.

Right. He forgot to take the weirdness of the place into account, Ianto thought wryly. Won't do that again.

"The mages do it," Rikash said easily, wings stroking air that was not, technically, there. "We used to use name spells on the dueling grounds during the full moon, sometimes. You were calling for Jack Harkness when I found you."

"How _did_ you find me?" Ianto asked, looking up at the Stormwing. He hadn't thought to ask, before.

"You were loud," Rikash muttered. "And I—" he banked a little to the left, and then to the right, giving the impression of shifting his feet uncomfortably. "I was— I could hear you calling and I thought, well, better someone than no one, and maybe you wanted to find the Realms of the Dead. You must admit, pretty boy, the darkness is more bearable when there's someone else."

"When there's someone else," Ianto repeated softly. "But I _looked_ for Lisa," he added, guilt sinking his stomach. "I couldn't find her. I couldn't find anyone."

"Lisa?" Rikash sneered.

"My girlfriend," Ianto replied quietly, full of regret. "Well. Ex-girlfriend, I suppose. She was—she-it was rather complicated." He looked down at his knees, conflicted.

Rikash's wings whispered up and down in the silence, the slight clinking of his metal feathers bringing back horrible, horrible memories. The stench of burnt flesh, the sound of mechanical feet on the ground, marching. Lisa, screaming, the steel welded to her skin still hot as he dragged her out of the conversion unit. Ianto swallowed.

He really had loved Lisa, once upon a time. It wasn't even that long ago, really, he thought guiltily. A year, two years before he'd died? She'd been his world. He'd sneaked her into Torchwood, after all, risking everything up to and including the future of the damned human race, in order to save her.

He'd failed, of course. She'd been more Cyberman than human in the end; she'd murdered two people before Jack and the rest of the Torchwood team had finally killed her. He had not forgotten the feeling—it had destroyed him to see her dead and bleeding. A week before he'd died, Ianto had had a nightmare about her blood on his hands. Jack had soothed him, he remembered, a sharp pain in his chest. Was he doing the right thing? Should he look for Lisa, instead? Surely, surely her soul was in the darkness somewhere, untarnished from the Cybermen.

But _Jack_. Dysfunctional, hurting Jack who kept such secrets, who lied through his teeth and even to the end hadn't really told Ianto anything about himself. He'd killed Ianto's girlfriend, and continually hurt him by simply not grasping Ianto's twenty-first century definition of a relationship.

But behind closed doors the man had been gentle, soldier persona gone, replaced by sure hands and soft eyes. Jack hadn't said he loved Ianto, but there had been something there, Ianto was sure of it. Was it worth the chance? Or was he just another in a long line of Jack's conquests?

"You sound like you didn't really want to find her," Rikash observed, breaking Ianto from his grim doubts.

Ianto frowned guiltily. "I loved her," he said softly, torn.

"But you don't love her anymore, I take it," Rikash pointed out. Ianto scowled viciously.

"When you love someone like that, you never stop," he growled. He did love Lisa, of course he did, but—but _Jack_...

He remembered Jack's voice breaking, begging the Four-five-six for Ianto's life. He remembered the world gone hazy, a pain somewhere in his gut, and Jack catching him when he fell. He remembered Jack pleading with him not to leave as the world darkened, voice choked with tears. Ianto took a shaky breath.

"Sentimental humans," Rikash muttered irritably, but there was no rancor in his voice. "Your Jack Harkness is alive. This Lisa of yours would bring up too much unfinished business, and neither of us wants to deal with that. Is there anyone else we could call?"

Ianto twisted around and up to glare up at the Stormwing who was looking down, watching him with intelligent green eyes. Maybe Lisa needed help, too, Ianto thought angrily, suddenly cold. "Why? Are you offering transport?" he snapped, conflicted and hurting. "Do you like being a carrier pigeon?"

"You don't weigh anything, in case you've forgotten," the Stormwing reminded him sarcastically. "We're both dead; none of this is real. If we can call someone, Ianto Jones, perhaps we can call this Guardian of the Baron's, and win our way back to the land of the living." Rikash scowled and then added scornfully, "That sounds awfully heroic, doesn't it? My death was heroic, too." He wrinkled his nose, as though disgusted.

"Sounds like you're just as sentimental as us humans," Ianto growled, and then added defiantly, "We're calling Lisa."

"Well, that's a stupid idea if I ever heard one," spat the Stormwing.

Stupid, Ianto agreed. Reckless. But he would hate himself if he didn't try.

"LISA!" he cried, as loudly as he could, feeling a little foolish.

Silence.

Rickash hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe she doesn't want to be found," he commented, sounding uneasy.

"I refuse to believe that," Ianto hissed. ""Lisa Hallett! _Lisa! _It's Ianto! Lisa!"

And then, movement in the darkness. Rikash banked in surprise, but Ianto barely felt it. "Lisa?" he asked nervously. If he'd had a heart, it would have hammered.

_Ianto. _

"... that's not what's supposed to happen," Rikash murmured, almost to himself, although how he knew was a mystery. Ianto barely heard him. Emotions warred in his heart - joy at hearing her again, for he did love her still, and abject fear, because what about Jack? This dilemma was not one that was natural - _till death do us part _was something so ingrained, even if he and Lisa had not been married.

"Lisa?" Ianto called again, strangled.

_Leave me alone. _

"Like I said," Rikash growled. "Unfinished business."

"You - what?" Ianto asked the empty darkness, confused. He did not hear Rikash.

_I told you to leave, _her voice sighed.

"I - Lisa - what - ?" Ianto spluttered, confused and alarmed and hurt.

_My last days spent growing colder and colder and now I am this thing that I do not recognize. What is the difference between the soul and the mind, Ianto? Do you remember? I'm tired. My death was exhausting; you were exhausting. You feel like life, and I'm so tired of the light. __Leave me alone. _  


Oh. Oh. Ianto had not expected - it was like a punch to the gut. Mouth open, he breathed shallowly as though wounded. He did not know what to say. "I - ," he managed, stricken.

_Yes, _agreed Lisa's voice ruefully. _That is the problem_. _I love you too. I always did. _

"Then why...?" Ianto asked, but there was no response. "Lisa?"

Silence.

"Right," mumbled Rikash. "That was productive."

Ianto stared up at the Stormwing. Little tremors went up and down his arms. He wanted to hit him. A lot. But there was no reason. He wanted to cry, but there were no tears-he was dead. Lisa had refused him. She'd - she'd - did it count as breaking up if she was dead? Oh, god. She didn't want to live. She'd always been full of life-

It was as if she'd died all over again. Ianto's thoughts spiraled viciously, Jack chasing Lisa chasing Jack, indecisive, wounded. Almost glad, because it meant he could find Jack, but horrified, because Lisa had refused to return to life. _Lisa. _Whom he'd loved, once upon a time. Whom he still loved, really, in that distant way one loved the long dead. Because she wanted to stay dead, and not come to life with him. Oh god. Lisa wanted to stay dead. Lisa, like a beacon, whom he had clutched to his heart in the worst of times, who hand wanted to be with him always, wanted to stay dead -

"Anyone else, Ianto Jones?" Rikash demanded.

"What?" Ianto snapped, looking up at him. He wished that he could cry, but being dead meant that he couldn't.

"Someone else we could try, you fool?"

Ianto wanted to sceam at him. He wanted to shout, to fight, to bellow. Instead he said dully, "My—my coworker. Toshiko Sato—she died before me."

"Toshiko Sato," Rikash tried. He leaned to one side, banking slowly in the nothingness of the dead space, thinking, apparently oblivious to the wild, desperate thoughts tumbling around Ianto's head. "Toshiko Sato."


	12. Chapter 11

WOW! You guys totally rock! I was not expecting that many reviews; thank you so much! I'm going to try to get chapter 12 up soon, but I can't promise anything. Maybe I can squeeze it into the weekend or during the week – if not, you'll see it next Friday. Anyway, here's the chapter!

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"George!"

George snapped awake, yanked from his conversation with Ianto Jones easily as the voice called his name. He blinked, startled, coming back to himself.

_"What?" _he snapped irritably, surprised, disoriented, and not a little annoyed. Alanna was watching him, and he sighed at the sight of her, regretting his harshness immediately. "What?" he asked again, more gently.

"The weevils are awake," she replied with a small smile, resting a hand apologetically on his shoulder, "and Daine thinks we can track down the other two. What were you doing?"

George smiled up at her and leaned into her hand before sliding his eyes to the side. The weevils were indeed awake; he'd tied them to a tree, with the bonds that would strangle them, if they struggled. He was gratified to see the creatures sitting sullenly on the roots, glaring.

George looked to the sky: it was no longer morning. Midday had come and gone, it seemed, as the shadows from the trees were starting to slant. The descending sun was beginning to dapple the ground with patches of light.

Jack, Kitten and Numair were still bent over that square box, and Daine was standing, looking out into the woods. When Alanna said her name, she turned and smiled faintly, starting to walk over.

"I need to speak with you," George told Alanna softly. His wife nodded gravely, recognizing his tone immediately.

"And Daine?" she asked quietly.

"Away from Jack," George murmured. This was something that needed to be discussed objectively and, as much as he liked Jack, George knew that the man was liable to fall prey to his emotions, at least about something like this. Besides, the weevils had just dealt him a nasty blow, making the poor fellow think that death followed him. He didn't need to know that George was in contact with his deiced lover, at least not yet, anyway.

"You've Seen something," Alanna stated as Daine stood in front of them. George nodded, just a little.

"You have?" Daine asked.

"Later," Alanna murmured and walked over to Jack and Numair. "Daine thinks she can find the other weevils," she announced.

"That's probably a bad idea," Jack said, looking up from the small metal wire that was sticking out of the box. Kitten looked up as well. She didn't make a sound, but her eyes went wide, slit-pupil blue darting to her adoptive mother in alarm.

Numair did not seem to have heard them. He hummed a little, lifting a tiny wire with a twig. "Jack, I think this one breaks the circuit—look, it's damaged."

Jack squinted back at the box. "Well," he said, sounding surprised. "Look at that, it is. Well done, Numair."

"Right," Alanna told them dryly. "We're going weevil-hunting."

"You are not!" Jack shook himself, leaping away from the fascinated mage. "Not without me, anyway."

"Doing what?" Numair asked distractedly, looking up. George noticed with amusement that Numair was practically beaming—he had a shiny new puzzle to work out. Mages, George thought with an internal chuckle. They're like children. Give them a new toy, and the whole world disappears.

"Daine wants to go weevil hunting," Jack repeated what Alanna had said for the third time.

"Daine wants to go— she wants to _what?_" Numair shot to his feet, the metal box forgotten. "Magelet, that's suicide!"

"Numair, honestly," Daine told him, voice long suffering.

"No," the mage stated flatly, eyes flashing from Daine to Alanna. "You're not experienced with these creatures, and you could hardly hold them. They have demonstrated that they are vicious, and that they'll turn on you, Daine. Hunting them seems like a very, very bad idea."

"Unless I go with you," Jack said firmly.

Numair shot him a glance.

"I'm experienced," Jack stated, and Numair bit his lip, eyes sliding unhappily back to Daine.

"It'll be fine, Numair," she soothed, coming over to rest a hand on his arm. "Really. I've done more dangerous things than this. Remember the skinners?"

"I'd rather not," the mage grumbled sullenly.

"The sooner we've got them out of the woods, the better," Jack said and he watched the shadows for a moment. "Is it already the afternoon?" he asked no one in particular. Daine chuckled.

"Yes," she told him, thumb rubbing Numair's arm, although the mage looked far from comforted. "You've been staring at that thing all day. Alanna warded us in, and then she and I marked some maps. I think there are more weevils headed this way; I can feel them, now that I know what to look for. They move quickly." She looked at Jack. "Since they were following you, and we were tracking them, we ran into each other sooner than expected. There are more coming."

"How many?" Jack asked softly, eyes guilty.

"Thirty, forty, at a guess," Daine replied quietly and Jack swallowed.

"We can't contain that many," he muttered. "And your gods won't be pleased."

"No," Daine agreed. "I was thinking that, if we figured out how they came to be here, we could send them back."

"I thought you said they traveled by this rift," Numair said slowly. George looked at Jack, slightly confused. Alanna had told him what they knew of Jack's past, but despite biting intelligence George was no scholar; talk of cracks and tears in time and space made his head hurt.

"Yes," Jack asserted. "They do. I don't think you _can_ send them back, Daine."

"But it's more than that," the wildmage insisted and started to pace. "Because how did they find the rift in the first place? You said they weren't from that planet, either," she accused Jack, who frowned.

"You're right," he murmured. "They're not. You think they have some other way of traveling?"

Daine nodded. "And maybe we can send them back. But in order to do that I need to talk to them."

Numair gestured to their two captives. "What about them?"

Daine looked over to the weevils. Their small eyes locked with hers, and two sets of lips curled as they growled lowly. She shook her head, breaking whatever connection she had.

"They're hard to understand," she murmured. "They keep insisting on some kind of light, but I don't know what they're talking about. Still, I think we should take care of the others."

"Or," Jack said slowly, "if they're following me, maybe we should go deeper into the woods. Away from the city."

Daine frowned. "If they get to the city, they'll stop following you," she murmured.

"Because the city's what they want," Jack agreed. "Aside from me." His voice was even and matter of fact, but Daine patted his shoulder anyway.

"It isn't you," she comforted him, and he seemed to appreciate it. "But I don't think we could stop them, and a day's ride, especially at the slow rate we'll have to go—" she nodded to the two captives, "won't really make a difference."

"She's right," George agreed. "But if you work on that holding cell, perhaps we could contain them. If you don't finish it though…"

"We'll have to kill them," Alanna finished when his voice faded.

George nodded at her. At Daine's stricken look, he added, "We won't have a choice, Daine. Do you really think we can contain forty of these things? Feed them, water them? They'll kill if they're allowed to roam the streets."

"They can't help what they are," the wildmage said quietly.

"And we can't help what _we_ are," Jack responded reasonably. "Numair and I will work on the receptacle. But first we should get those other two out there." He nodded to the woods. "Before it gets dark. Weevils are nocturnal, mostly. If we get them while it's still day, we might startle them."

Daine nodded a little. "We might. Do we have enough rope?"

"For two more? Yes," George said.

"Who stays behind to guard them?" Alanna asked, jerking her head to the captives.

"I'll stay," George volunteered, and Jack nodded at him.

"Well, there're two out there," Jack said. "So I'm going to need one other person—preferably Daine, because she can find them. Then I'm going to need a mage to stun them, so that's either you or Numair."

Alanna and Numair looked at each other. "You go," Alanna told him. "I'll stay with George."

Numair nodded slowly. "Alright." He stretched a little, cracking his back. "I've been sitting too long, anyway." He spared an anxious glance to Daine. "The footing seems a little precarious for horses," he murmured.

"You're right," Daine agreed, smiling at him. "We'll have to go on foot." She grabbed her bow. "Kit?' she asked. "Stay or go?"

The little dragon turned pink and shook her head emphatically, scampering over to crouch beside Alanna. George raised an eyebrow. Pink was an odd color for the little dragon to turn - it meant she was afraid. He hadn't seen the little one afraid often, and from the looks of it, Daine hadn't either.

"Alright," Daine said, little bemused. "That's probably better anyway." Kit chattered meekly at her, peering around Alanna's legs.

Jack looked at the dragon keenly. "You don't like aliens, do you?" he asked. She shook her head, peeping like a frightened chick.

"That's odd," Numair commented. "But you still like Jack."

The dragon trilled, nodding.

"We're having this discussion later," Jack stated flatly. He turned to Daine. "Lead on," he said and gestured grandly. Daine chuckled at him and took Numair's hand, squeezing it once before letting it drop.

"You'll have to take the wards down," Numair told Alanna, reluctantly releasing Daine's hand.

"I keyed them so you can find them," Alanna assured him, and the mage nodded.

"All right. Off we go, then," he said and Daine led them out into the woods. As soon as they were out of earshot, Alanna turned to her husband.

"Well?" she asked. George sighed.

"I had two very interesting conversations with a certain Ianto Jones," he told her lowly, and Alanna's eyes widened. Kitten stood up straight, staring at him.

"Jack's Ianto?" she asked, violet eyes wide.

"The very same. He and Rikash Moonsword—Daine's Stormwing friend, remember? – are somehow caught between realms. Gainel made a bargain with me; he thinks that Jones is the key to this Gate, somehow."

The little dragon squealed and raced over to George, chattering excitedly. The Baron chuckled and lifted her in his arms when she begged.

"That's—quite a lot of information," Alanna murmured thoughtfully, although she was smiling a little from Kitten's antics. "So you told him—Ianto, I mean—about what we're doing."

"The weevils and the Guardian, yes. I don't know how they can help us, but he wants me to bargain with Gainel for him," George nodded, and then beckoned her to come sit with him by the embers of the fire.

"Necromancy isn't exactly the best of magics, George," Alanna said uneasily, sitting next to him. "You remember Roger."

"No, it isn't," George agreed and he held Alanna's eyes, sharing her unease. "But Gainel sanctions it, so I think we're stuck with it, love. He's sharp, Jack's Ianto. I think he can be of help, although I don't have the slightest clue how. All I know is that it would likely be a bad idea to outright tell Jack." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and Alanna winced.

"At least for the moment, especially after this business with the weevils," she agreed after a moment, and Kitten whistled sadly. "Although he should know, when the time comes. How did Ianto die?"

"Not a clue. I'll ask him, next time I See him," George replied wryly.

"It isn't really my business," Alanna muttered, shaking her head and picking up a stick to poke at the embers. Then she rolled her eyes. "Look at us, gossiping like old birds."

"Thought you hated gossip," George drawled playfully, slinging an arm around his wife. The dragon, which he held with his other arm, chirped, and he let her go. She scampered off, returning a moment later with another stick with which she poked the fire.

"I do," Alanna said, leaning into his shoulder. "I think Jack brings it out of me."

"He's hung up on something, but we don't know what," George agreed, smiling down at her. "If that's not something to gossip about, I don't know what is."

"It isn't our business," Alanna repeated, shaking her head. "Although I imagine Ianto's death didn't help. You said he was with a _Stormwing_?" She twisted around to look up at him.

"Rikash," George nodded. "Daine's friend." Kitten whistled, apparently remembering him.

"He died in the Immortal's War," Alanna recalled after a moment, frowning to herself. "What does he want?"

"The same thing Jones does. He wants to—"

"Come back to life," Alanna finished with him. "How can they help us?"

"Not a clue," George said ruefully. "Still, every little bit helps, even if they're stuck between realms…" he paused, frowning.

"Between realms?" Alanna asked.

"I reckon there's no place in the Realms of the Dead for a Stormwing, but I don't know why Ianto's not there," George replied. "They might be lost."

"Between realms," Alanna repeated thoughtfully.

There was a silence. George looked down at Alanna's red hair, waiting patiently for her to finish her thought. She clearly believed that to be significant, but he couldn't imagine what that awful darkness had to do with anything.

"If I wanted to imprison a god," his Lioness said slowly, after a moment, "I think that'd be a pretty good place to hide him, don't you?"

Kitten, now sitting in front of the fire, turned back to look at Alanna with wide eyes. George watched her as well, remembering Ianto's words.

_Your gods want us to look, too, _he had said. Of course, of _course_. Even still, though, George doubted that the gods of this world had access to the realms between worlds.

"And if not," he replied, thinking aloud and following her train of thought, quietly impressed, as always, by her logic, "Between realms means you might have access to all other realms. If the Guardian of the Gates is not in the Mortal Realms, perhaps Ianto Jones and Rikash Moonsword have a better chance of finding him than we do. I'll have to tell them."

"You need to speak to Gainel, too," Alanna said. Then she tilted her head to one side. "What did you bargain for, anyway?"

"None o' your business," George answered gruffly. Alanna raised her eyebrows.

"I think it's plenty my business, laddybuck," she said, watching his face redden. She knew him too well, gods curse her, George thought.

There was no way he could refuse Alanna anything, and she knew it. He was stuck. He scowled at her.

"You get seasick," he muttered. "I traded him for two weeks of restful nights."

"George!" Alanna cried, indigent, but he could see a flush work its way around her cheeks. "That was a silly thing to bargain for!"

"It was no such thing," her husband insisted, drawing her closer. "A few nights rest, when you don't feel well? That's priceless, that is."

She scowled but relaxed against him, letting him hold her. "It was pretty stupid," she muttered again, but he squeezed her, disagreeing. Sighing, she tried to draw away, but he would not let her.

"You should talk to Gainel," she murmured and he sighed.

"Aye, that I should." He rested his chin on her shoulder, leaning close to brush his lips against her neck.

Kitten snorted in disgust and went to go play by the fire. George smiled down at the little dragon and held his Lioness close for a moment longer.

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	13. Chapter 12

_Toshiko Sato rested in peace._

_ It was a deep, dreamless sleep, unrestful but not unpleasant. There was, simply, nothing. If she was conscious, she might have liked some entertainment – a circuit to fiddle with, maybe, or a book to read. However, she was not, and so time passed unnoticed and unmourned. _

_And then, a sound, as if from a dream._

_Toshiko! Toshiko Sato. _

_Tosh! Are you there? Tosh!_

_Darkness. Silence. _

_Hello?_

Light.

"Tosh! Rikash, _land,_ you feathered nuisance!"

"There isn't any land to land on!"

Tosh squinted and then blinked in the sudden light. There was a face she knew, a friend suspended from an orange bungee cable. "_Ianto?_" she asked incredulously.

"Tosh!" Ianto cried, face lighting as he saw her, and then looked up. "She's standing on something," he said flatly. "Which means you can stand, too. _Land_, Rikash."

Tosh followed Ianto's eyes and gaped.

There was a massive silver bird hovering over him, grasping the orange bungee cable on which her friend sat in great, murderous claws. On second glance, it was not a bird: it had bird's wings for arms, with bird-like legs and tail, feathers and talons made from some kind of metal. Its torso was that of a man's, as was its head, and there were bones braded in its long, matted blond hair. It smelled awful, fetid and rotting, and Tosh wondered how Ianto—if he was Ianto—could bare to be so close to it.

"I'll drop you if I land, you stupid mortal," the creature growled.

"For god's sake," Ianto muttered, exasperated, and hopped off the bungee cord.

"_Ianto!_" the creature cried in alarm, tucking in its wings in preparation to catch Ianto as he fell. But Ianto landed on his feet next to Tosh, standing on nothing.

"See?" he boasted, looking up at the creature, which scowled and banked, grumbling. Gracelessly, it landed beside Tosh's coworker and friend.

"Ianto—what—?" Tosh found herself utterly lost for words. Ianto smiled at her, and she felt herself unwillingly returning the gesture. There was a strange darkness in his eyes, though. Ianto was a spectacular actor, almost as good as Jack, but Tosh had known him for a few years, and she knew what it was like to keep something hidden. He had something lost in his expression.

"It's good to see you, Tosh," he said quietly but earnestly, and the odd look in his eye faded, just a little. He was sincere.

"You too," Tosh returned, heartfelt but confused. Obviously, he was dead as well. She figured it would be rude to ask how. "How did you find me?"

The metal bird thing sidled uncomfortably. "We called you," it said. Ianto scowled a little.

"Tosh, this is Rikash Moonsword. He's an alien, obviously—he's called a Stormwing. Rikash, this is Toshiko Sato, Torchwood Operative. We used to work together."

"Clearly," Rikash sneered, but he nodded a greeting to Tosh before scoffing, "You and your Torchwood."

"Yes, me and my Torchwood," Ianto snapped back, and Tosh had to fight a small smile. Ianto turned back to her. "Rikash and I were experimenting," he stated, and Tosh raised her eyebrows.

"I've been working with Jack too long," she said, her lips twitching in an amused smile. Ianto snorted.

"Not like that," he said dryly and Rikash made a disgusted sound.

"Oh, honestly, humans," he muttered, shaking his head and making the bones there rattle. "Only ever think of one thing."

Tosh's smile widened. "Yes, we do," she told the Stormwing cheerfully. Now that Ianto had told her what Rikash was, there was absolutely no fear in her. She had worked for Torchwood, after all. She'd seen stranger things. "What were you trying to do, Ianto?"

"We were seeing if we could find someone," Ianto told her, pacing a little. His voice dropped, as though frustrated, but as their experiment had apparently been a success Tosh wondered why he looked so unhappy. "Rikash and I ran into each other by accident, and since then we've made a few discoveries."

"You just—ran into each other?" Tosh asked, disbelieving. She looked around the dead space. "How is that possible?"

"This—this woman woke me up," Ianto specified uneasily. "But she sent me back. She was trying to make a bargain with Jack. She wanted him to kill a bunch of people, in return for me. He refused, of course," he said derisively. "But when I came back, I was awake. I started looking for Jack, because I thought he might need help, and ran into Rikash." He jerked his thumb at the Stormwing, who tossed his head, letting the bones braided in his hair click together.

"And you?" Tosh asked the Stormwing, frowning. "What happened to you?"

"I was always awake," Rikash told her darkly. "My world has no place for dead Immortals. He was yelling; I could hear him, so I went and found him."

"Immortals?" Tosh asked, frowning.

"Where I'm from," Rikash explained impatiently, "There are creatures like me that will not die unless someone physically kills us. In case you haven't noticed, I was killed, and since then I've been here." He scowled, metal feathers clicking and clanking as they ruffled. Tosh was intrigued, but she kept to the subject at hand.

"And since then you two have been experimenting," Tosh said slowly. "What have you found out? Clearly, you can wake people up."

"If you expect things to be there, they are," Ianto replied immediately, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "Like the light." He pointed to his little globe. "I made the bungee cable, so Rikash could carry me. Apparently we're weightless, too." He looked at Rikash.

"It's not like we're real," the Stormwing sneered.

Tosh nodded. "So if I expect it to be light—" she paused, eyes going glassy, and then beamed as a burning globe appeared on her left side. "That's rather handy," she told Ianto brightly. Ianto nodded at her, a small smile twitching at his lips. "Anything else?" she asked. "What about the woman who woke you up?"

"She was from Rikash's world," Ianto explained. "Apparently he lives in a pocket universe, with its own laws of physics. They have gods there."

"And—that's where Jack is?" Tosh asked, giving Ianto an uneasy look. "They have gods?"

Ianto shrugged. "One of them brought me back to life. But since we're not from that universe, we're not in their jurisdiction." He grinned a little and Tosh smiled back. That was the Ianto Jones she knew – threats of red tape and scary, clever manipulation of what was essentially paperwork.

"But we're trying to buy our way back there, or have you forgotten?" Rikash interrupted. "Because alive there beats dead here. Tell her about George, Ianto."

* * *

Daine, Numair and Jack returned after sunset, two stunned weevils floating behind them. Jack held a rabbit by the feet, and he was arguing with Daine.

"But that's impossible," he was saying crossly, "you can't just slip between dimensions!"

"I don't know, Jack," she muttered in response, "That's what it feels like they're saying. They're hard to understand!"

Kitten squealed, breaking their conversation, and bounded over to Daine and then Jack, chattering excitedly.

"Yes, hello to you too, Kit," Numair snapped sourly when the dragon did not great him. His face was gray and his breathing heavy. It seemed that he was still not fully recovered from the fiasco with the Nepthalae, and keeping the weevils afloat was taxing. The dragon, chastised, whistled at him.

"Sorry," the mage muttered. "I suppose I _am_ still tired."

"Still tired and floating weevils?" Alanna tsked as she rose to greet them, and purple fire flowed from her hand, supporting the unconscious aliens. "I can take it from here." She bent down and grasped a rope, beginning to tie the weevils. The conscious ones watched with malevolent eye, sitting harmlessly on their tree root.

"What's George doing?" Jack asked, looking at the Baron. George was sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, breathing slowly. Alanna frowned at him.

"Meditating," she told him truthfully, although there was a careful edge in her voice that made Jack immediately wary. "He has a bargain with Gainel, the dream god."

Jack's face darkened, fingers tightening around the legs of the dead rabbit. "Gainel. What's the bargain?"

Kitten cheeped and clutched at Jack's breeches. Jack looked down at her, and the dragon shook her head.

"This isn't the best time to tell you," Alanna told him, but her eyes were compassionate. "We'll explain later, when we have all the details. It has to do with the Guardian."

"Oh-kay…" Jack replied slowly, perplexed. "We'll deal with the weevils, then, if it's not urgent."

Alanna sighed and shook her head. "It isn't quite urgent, not yet." She glanced at Daine and Numair and they each returned her gaze.

Jack opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted. Red had walked over and pushed a gray nose into his shoulder. Jack blinked and looked up at the gelding. "Yes?" he asked his horse.

"He wants to make sure you're alright," Daine supplied. Then she quirked a grin. "He also says that you smell like blood and gunpowder, and what Alanna's talking about is very good, and they will tell you soon."

"Tell him that the blood and gunpowder comes from hunting weevils," Jack said dryly, carefully taking off his jacket, still in perfect condition thanks to several spells. They were quite upfront about keeping things from him, which was odd, but he found himself trusting Alanna's judgment. Besides, he figured he'd rather know the whole story than half of it. Still, it rankled a little, a strange game of I-know-something-you-don't. Jack handed the rabbit to Numair and moved to bathe in the brook nearby camp and change his clothes. The Tortallans waved as he walked off and Red, of course, followed him.

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" Jack muttered as he followed the noise of rushing water. "Honestly, I'm fine."

The horse regarded him with one skeptical brown eye.

"The weevils bring back bad memories, that's all," Jack mumbled, and then stripped his dirty clothes off before tip-toeing into the cold brook. He grimaced at the tempreture, and Red snorted behind him. Rolling his eyes, Jack stepped fully into the rushing water, surprised at its apparent depth. He ducked his head under the icy water to rinse the blood from his neck, where one of the two weevils had bitten him, although the wound had already healed. When he resurfaced, Red was giving him a doubtful look. "Good memories," Jack amended with a sigh. "But I really don't want to think about them. Okay? Look, I'm in one piece." He patted down his chest comically. "I think."

Red glared at him.

"What?" Jack asked. Red's ears pricked forward then, and he got a mischievous look about him. "Whatever you're thinking of—" Jack warned, but too late; the horse had gripped his stained and bloodied shirt in his mouth and tossed it into the brook, to be followed by his breeches. "Hey!" Jack lunged after his clothing. "It's not too late to sell you, you know!" he threatened, but Red whinnied at him merrily and Jack found himself laughing as well, the tension from the secrets of his friends briefly forgotten.

* * *

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	14. Chapter 13

Jack's laughter floated down from the brook and Daine felt herself smiling.

He worries too much, Red told her from the distance. He is too tense. I think it is time he should laugh, don't you? And his clothing smells.

Daine chuckled.

"What is it?" Numair asked, taking a seat and beginning to skin the rabbit Jack had given him.

"Red has a sense of humor, that's all," she replied, grinning but averting her eyes from the mess Numair was making of the meat. Just because she couldn't eat it didn't mean that she would prevent everyone she loved from enjoying meat; as Jack had said, they couldn't help what they are, even if it did make her a little queasy.

Red is sentimental, Cloud muttered dryly, coming up behind her, close enough to huff a breath on Daine's hair.

That's not a bad thing, Daine admonished her pony.

No, Cloud agreed, It's not. But he's buying you time: ask Alanna about George's bargain. The pony nudged Daine's shoulder. Go on. Daine nodded, sighing regretfully. The horses had been around her too long; they were thinking like two-leggers, planning and scheming.

"Alanna—" she started, looking questioningly back at her friend.

"George made a bargain with Gainel," the Lioness said, beckoning Numair over after she had tied the weevils to another tree. "I think you should know what it is."

"Why won't you tell Jack?" Numair asked quietly. He set the half-skinned rabbit down to give Alanna his full attention.

"Because he's Seen Jack's Ianto," Alanna told him matter-of-factly, and Numair stared at her, eyes widening. Daine's breath caught. She remembered Jack shouting furiously to Gainel about a dream, and she remembered the broken look on Jack's face when the Graveyard Hag had tried to use Ianto as a bargaining piece. Ianto Jones was Jack's very obvious weak spot, and if Gainel had made a bargain concerning the man, Jack's heart was liable to get trampled in the process.

"What's the bargain?" Daine asked, dreading the answer on behalf of her friend.

"Gainel thinks that Ianto will be able to help us find the Guardian," Alanna replied. "Ianto's met up with—well, he's met up with your Stormwing, Daine. Rikash."

Daine blinked at her, shocked. Rikash had died only recently, and the hurt was still fresh. "He was never mine," she whispered, eyes dropping, and Numair laid a supportive hand on her shoulder.

"He was a good friend to us," he murmured. "What are they doing there? Shouldn't they be in the Realms of the Dead?"

"The Realms of the Dead have no place for an Immortal," George croaked, and they all looked at him. The Baron cleared his throat, stretching out his legs, which had been crossed as he meditated. "And Jack's world has no realms for their dead at all. They're both between realms. It's just darkness." He shivered a little. Alanna went over to him.

"Are you alright?" she asked, crouching next to him and curling an arm affectionately around his shoulder. George nodded, offering her a brief smile.

"That's—horrible," Daine whispered. Numair brought a water skin over and offered it to George, who drank appreciatively.

"How can a dead man and a Stormwing help us find the Guardian?" the mage asked, voice quiet and practical. Jack's laughter suddenly echoed from the stream as scolded Red for something.

"They're nowhere," George explained quietly. "The spaces between realms."

"If I were going to hide a god," Alanna put in, "I would hide him there."

Daine and Numair glanced at each other. "We have to tell Jack," Daine said flatly. "We can't keep something like this from him."

"I know," Alanna told her. "I don't plan to. But I wasn't going to give him half the story, especially for something this important – George still had to work out his bargain with Gainel."

"Don't worry," George said grimly. "Gainel said he wants to take care of it. He's got a contact."

"What?" Numair asked, looking confused.

"Owen Harper," Daine supplied slowly. "He visits Jack in his dreams. Is that really wise?"

George nodded. "Aye, that's the one. His Worship says that Jack'd trust that man far more than any of us, dead or not. How did you come to know about it, lass?"

"After the Nepthalae," Daine whispered, eyes dropping. "I found out."

"I don't really like that, George," Alanna murmured. "Jack might like it better coming from us."

"Rogue though I may be, love," George replied darkly, "I'd rather not argue directly with the plans of gods."

Daine, Red warned, just as they heard Jack crashing through the trees.

"Daine, you tell Red that he is a pain in the ass!" he cried merrily, wearing a clean pair of breeches, but carrying the old pair as well as a sodden shirt on his arm.

And you tell Jack that I am not a donkey, Red told her, eyes twinkling with amusement. Daine laughed, her unease from the previous conversation ducking away at the sight of Jack and Red.

"Red says that he's not a donkey," she translated, and Jack chuckled.

"He would," her friend said, slapping the horse's neck. "Right, brook's free; it's your turn." Jack's blue eyes landed on the half-skinned carcass that Daine was very carefully not looking at. "Has anyone skinned my rabbit, or do I have to do that _again_?" he asked, exasperated but good humored. It jarred a little; Daine hid a small sigh, feeling guilty for keeping secrets.

"I'll do it," Alanna replied easily, picking up where Numair left off. "Numair, you smell of dirt."

The mage huffed indignantly and stood. He arched an eyebrow to Daine before striding with purpose to the trees. Daine snickered and followed him. "It's hardly your fault," she teased, catching up to her mage. Numair regarded her with gleaming eyes as they stepped out onto the rocks around the brook.

"No, I rather think it's yours," he said, arms curling around her waist. Daine grinned and leaned against him, enjoying the wicked glee in his eyes. His arms tightened around her and just when she thought he'd kiss her, he swung her around and she shrieked with surprise. Numair laughed brightly, kissed her nose and then dumped her unceremoniously intro the brook, clothes and all.

* * *

_-Owen Harper.—_

"What can I do for you, m'lord?" Owen's voice was scornful and he leaned casually against the autopsy table.

Torchwood Three was not just Jack's dream world. Owen rather preferred it himself, although his afterlife was spent in the Realms of the Dead, which turned out to be a rather nice place. There was a little city, and this bar. It was a bit disheartening to know that death was so much like life, except without change, but to be frank, it certainly beat the darkness. Anything beat the darkness when you got right down to it.

Even still, whenever Gainel came to tell him something, Owen found himself here or at his desk behind the medical room. He walked around the autopsy table, looking up at the god, standing on the stairwell. Gainel looked extremely out of place in the rag-tag, stained Torchwood autopsy bay, there on the stairs with his dark eyes, shoulders shrouded in a dark coat. He looked every inch a god.

_-I found Ianto Jones.— _It took a second for the words to sink in, but when they did Owen fought the brief surge of surprise and, embarrassingly enough, delight.

His relationship with Ianto had been an odd one, filled with fierce sniping back and forth. Yet they'd had a sort of kinship, in a weird, I-bloody-hate-you way, and Owen had been saddened when Gainel had told him of Ianto's demise.

"That's nice," Owen replied dryly, crushing the strange joy he felt into a fine powder before metaphorically smoking it. "Shall I tell Jack, then?" Lover boy would be absolutely delighted, he thought wryly, and then a terrifying thought suddenly occurred to him. He paused. "You're not going to send me back into the darkness, are you?"

Gainel chuckled gently, and touched Owen's chin affectionately. Owen scowled and jerked away. Bloody weird gods did _not_ belong in his personal space, thank you very much!

_-No. I bargained with _you_, little spitfire.—_

"I keep telling you not to call me that," Owen grumbled, but Gainel only laughed. Owen had learned by now that it was useless to argue with him. You couldn't win an argument with the bloody Dream King. It got very surreal very quickly and it just wasn't worth it; Owen didn't need the acid trip.

"Right, okay, so what do you want me to do?" he asked hurriedly. This whole servile thing wasn't for him, not really, but choices were choices, and the afterlife in Tortall was much, much more pleasant than the afterlife at home.

_-Ianto Jones and his little band exist out of my jurisdiction,- _Gainel explained, and Owen had to suppress a snicker at the thought of the tea boy in a band. Would he be the lead singer? That was a laugh. _–I cannot go where he is. You, however, can. I need you to speak with him.—_

Owen felt another flash of fear. "Into the darkness?" he whispered and then his voice rose indignantly. "You said you weren't going to send me there!"

_-Just the once, Owen,- _the Dream God soothed and Owen scowled. –_Teach him to stride through dreams, and then you can speak with him in my realms. I'm sure he would appreciate the change of scenery.—_

Owen bit his lip. "How do I find my way back?" he asked nervously.

_-I will guide you. Do not worry; I will not let you get lost.—_

It was a comfort, but a cold one. The thought of that darkness sent chills up Owen's nonexistent spine.

Still. Owen had his pride, and he was a Torchwood Operative. He'd seen some pretty nasty stuff in his time; he'd challenged Death and become the king of the bloody weevils. He could handle a little darkness, right?

Right.

"Okay," he said. "Teach him to go through dreams. Right. Anything else?"

_-Perhaps you should know that he travels with a Stormwing called Rikash, and another Torchwood agent called Toshiko Sato.—_

"He travels with _who?_" Owen yelped, but the med room was slowly darkening, and Gainel was disappearing.

"Hold on, Gainel, mate, _wait!_" Owen cried, but the world became darkness and nothing else. Owen took a deep, steadying breath, not that he needed it.

"Right," he said to no one and nothing, "Right. Okay. I can do this. Light." A burning globe sprung to existence by his head and he scowled at it, beginning to walk to nowhere. "Bloody unhelpful gods," he muttered sourly, and then took a breath.

"Ianto!" Owen shouted into the darkness. "Ianto Jones! _Ianto!_"

* * *

"My son, Lord Mithros." The voice was feminine and smooth, somehow the essence of light and heat. "Your Father is very ill."

Mithros, God of Sun and Shield, stood in soft darkness. It was not the dark of the dead space; instead it twinkled with distant stars, although they did not provide nearly enough light. "Mother?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Your Father's Guardian, as you know, has gone missing. You remember how urgently I spoke to you about getting him back." The stars twinkled brightly, but not merrily – there was anger in the light that shown from the distance.

"We are doing all we can, Mother," Mithros replied respectfully. "The immortal Jack Harkness—"

"Who jars upon my very senses," Mother Flame snapped, her voice firm. "The Bad Wolf scalds your Father in his defense. She broke the barrier so that _man_ could come in, Time only knows why. Your Father and I cannot touch him."

"And so he may cross into any realm but that of the dead," Mithros explained patiently. "Realms of Dream and Chaos and even Divine open before him, because he cannot die. He comes from beyond Father Universe; he knows of things that we can barely dream of. He can close the gap, Mother. He helped create it, after all."

"He does not destroy those that you tell him to destroy," Mother Flame said, voice low, almost a snarl. "And his defender harms us all."

Mithros growled. "He is unruly. My brother Mynoss still believes that he will listen."

"Father Universe grows weak."

Mithros frowned. "But the stain is very small," he said. "Only one kind, no more than forty—"

"And do you not wonder how those forty got here?" came the sharp response. "Each move they make tears into him more, and your sister, my son, takes advantage!"

"Uusoae," Mithros said flatly. "You imprisoned her in a cage of dead matter and star fire until the next star is born, for her interference in the mortal world," he reminded her.

"Indeed. However, it seems that she does not respect her parents. She has taken advantage of her father's illness; I fear that cage may not hold. She will be punished most harshly if she leaves her own realms, of course. She disrespects us. I wish you to be on the lookout for her, my son."

Mithros nodded. "I will tell my brothers and sisters so. Is there anything else we can do for Father?"

"No. The Lone Wolf must do his duty, or he will not be accepted here."

Mithros bowed to his mother. "We will goad him, Mother, as best we can."

* * *

Bum bum bum…. The plot thickens! Or, you know, something. Next chapter on Friday/Saturday or if I randomly have time in the middle of the week (unlikely). Please leave a review!


	15. Chapter 14

"Did you hear that?" Tosh asked into the black silence.

"Hear what?" Ianto replied.

"I think someone said your name," Rikash said, craning his neck and rustling his feathers.

"That doesn't make any sense at all," Tosh said crossly, as though it were a personal insult.

They had taken to walking through the darkness, for lack of anything better to do. Rikash had suggested flying, but Ianto was tired of sitting; as he'd said before, at least he felt productive when he walked. The darkness was endless, but they continued on, followed by three tiny globes of light. Lisa's rejection nagged at him as he walked, but Ianto pushed it away, putting one foot in front of the other, thinking of Tosh and Rikash. He'd played this game before, Ianto thought grimly - push the pain away, think of something else. Jack needed him, he told himself. Jack needed him, and, really, Lisa was distant, asleep and dead. He had not even seen her in years, but his heart protested that thiat did not make it better. Jack was alive and hurting, and Ianto could help him. Pain clouded his sight and he saw Rikash glance at him in concern when his light-globe dimmed briefly.

And then, suddenly, there was a sound in the silence.

_"Ianto! You bloody idiot, I know you're around here somewhere!"_

"I know that voice…" Ianto murmured, voice trailing, light brightening as he distracted himself, trying to see. Rikash glanced at him again in confusion.

"Owen?" Tosh called back into the darkness, eyebrows drawn.

Silence. Then, "Tosh! Tell the tea boy to get over here!"

Tosh's face lit with delight, and she turned to Ianto. "Well, you heard him," she said cheerfully and tugged a bewildered Ianto towards the sound. Thoughts of Lisa flared at Tosh's delight, but then dimmed as he realized the implications of finding Owen. Had Owen been awake before?

"I thought you just said that this makes absolutely no sense," Rikash accused, waddling gracelessly beside them.

"Owen very rarely makes sense," Ianto drawled and Tosh snickered.

Owen was standing in a small pool of his own globe light, and he made a sound of disgust when they approached. "What _reeks_?" he demanded.

Ianto suppressed at grin at the sight of him. Owen looked as he always had: a git clad in dark leather with his arms crossed, a scowl permanently drawn on his smooth face.

"That would be Rikash," Ianto supplied dryly, concealing his sudden, unexpected delight. The Stormwing glared.

"Owen!" Tosh cried happily and raced over to see him. Awkwardly, she stopped in front of the medic, grin slowly fading. She stuck out a hand.

"Oh, _honestly,_" Owen growled, grabbing her hand and pulling her bodily into his arms. Tosh gave a startled, but ultimately happy, squeak. "You practically poured your heart out to me when I died; don't think I don't _know_, Tosh."

"I thought you'd forgotten or—or—"

"—didn't care? _Please!_ I do, in fact, have a heart." He bent to kiss her.

Ianto delicately cleared his throat, and Rikash made a disgusted sound. Tosh and Owen stopped and both, as one, glared.

Rikash turned to Ianto. "Please tell me you're not this sickening with your Jack Harkness," he drawled.

"You shouldn't judge," Ianto replied mildly. The barb hit its mark, though. Guilt clawed at his throat, but he hid it with a wry smirk at the Stormwing.

"It's a good thing we're all dead, so I can't bloody _kill_ you," Owen snapped and then sighed. "I'm supposed to teach you how to walk through dreams," he added, reluctantly releasing Tosh.

Ianto stared at him, utterly thrown. "You're—you're _what_?" Where had that come from?

"You made a bargain with Gainel," Owen told them, suddenly all business. "Relayed through George Cooper."

"Through who?" Tosh asked.

"Baron of Pirate's Swoop, my world," Rikash supplied. "He's the one who told us about the Guardian."

"Right," Tosh muttered.

"And somehow that got around to _you_?" Ianto asked incredulously. Owen rolled his eyes.

"Your lover boy wouldn't talk to Gainel," he said dryly and Ianto glared. "So he went and called me."

"That doesn't have anything to do with anything. You're not in his jurisdiction," Ianto accused. What did Owen have to do with this Gainel of dreams?

"Actually, I am," Owen said smugly.

"You are?" Tosh asked. Owen smirked at her.

"I didn't die of radiation," he explained flatly. "My body disintegrated, but I was still there."

"Owen, that's awful!" Tosh breathed, placing a hand on his arm. Ianto exhaled sharply, staring at Owen in wide-eyed sympathy.

"So?" Rikash sneered.

"_So,_" Owen continued, glaring again, "I wasn't really alive and I wasn't really dead. I was—the stuff of dreams." That was clearly a quote from someone else. "So when Jack got pissy with Gainel, he found me, and asked me to be a sort of go-between, in exchange for access to the Realms of the Dead in his world." Owen shrugged and smiled a little back at Tosh. "It certainly beats the darkness."

"Anything beats the darkness," Rikash added uneasily, hunching a little on himself. Ianto swallowed and resolutely didn't think about it.

"So you can walk through dreams," Ianto said quietly. "And you've been—talking to Jack?" Hope smothered the guilt he still felt over Lisa. "How is he? What's happening?"

"Right, so, Coop—" Owen stopped and winced. The old Torchwood team shared a glance as Owen was unable to finish the name 'Cooper.' Even though she was alive, and likely happy, they did miss Gwen, whose last name was also Cooper. "The Baron," Owen amended. "He told you about the pocket universe?"

"Yes," Tosh said. "Or, he told Ianto, anyway, and he and Rikash relayed it to me."

Owen nodded. "There's gods there, obviously," he said flatly. "A lot of them aren't happy with Jack. Other than that, he's fine."

"That old woman," Ianto growled, remembering her indignant power when he'd spoken back to her, and when Jack had refused the bargain.

"The Graveyard Hag," Owen supplied and Ianto filed the name away. "Right old beast, isn't she? She does the whole back-from-the-dead thing. Mithros isn't pleased either."

The name didn't mean much to Ianto, but Rikash winced. "That won't be pleasant," the Stormwing said darkly.

"No," Owen agreed quietly, "It won't. Anyway, there's a plan."

"A plan? Really?" Ianto asked incredulously. "We never have a plan."

"Shut up, Jones."

Tosh chuckled and they all looked at her. "It's almost like Torchwood again," she explained. The three of them shared a wistful look, and Rikash rolled his eyes.

"_Right, _okay, mortals, let's share the plans like intelligent creatures, instead of reminiscing?" he asked, ruffling his feathers so they clicked and clinked. Owen glared.

"And I'm supposed to believe you're intelligent?" he sneered. "You're a bloody _Stormwing,_" he accused. "Don't think I don't know what that is. Gainel _explained_ what you are. I ought to leave you here to rot!"

Rikash paled, but Ianto stepped in front of his friend. "Owen," he warned.

"You don't know what he is," Owen snarled, pointing an accusing finger. "They live on battlefields, Stormwings. When the war's done, they go and play with the bodies, like vultures."

Tosh and Ianto turned to Rikash who shrugged, feathers clicking. "Can I help what I am?" he asked mildly. "I can no more stop feeding on fear than you can stop breathing the air. Well," and here he scowled, baring sharp silver teeth. "If we were alive, anyway."

"Why don't we concentrate on getting out of here," Tosh suggested, "and then worry about everything else."

Owen nodded once. "Right. Okay. Gainel wants you to search for the Guardian here." He gestured to the darkness, "But he can't talk to you here and, frankly, I don't want to either." Owen rubbed his arms. "Gives me the willies, this place."

Thanks, Owen, Ianto thought wryly, but he refrained from commenting.

"It'll also be easier if you can update our Tortallan friends directly, instead of having to go through me, so I'm here to teach you how to walk through dreams," Owen continued blithely, "Your best luck is George, apparently, because of the Sight of his, although as you get better you can do the others."

They nodded at him, and Owen took a deep breath.

"Like this, then," he said, and sketched a half circle with his arm.

* * *

Numair might have been the only one of his friends who did not, in fact, deal regularly with gods. He was a mage and a strong one, making his patron Shakith the all-seer, but he'd never met the god.

He knew Daine's parents, of course, and what a terrifying pair they were. Gainel had visited his dreams occasionally, but not recently. He knew Alanna was the Chosen of the Threefold Goddess, and the thought had frightened him enough to keep him up at night, when he first met her.

He even knew George had made a few deals with Kyprioth in his time, but that didn't bare thinking about. No, Numair Salmalin was no chosen vassal.

This meant that it was a surprise when a woman appeared in his dream.

She wasn't Daine, anyway, and that made him stare in confusion for rather a long time.

"Er. Hello," said the woman. She looked vaguely Yamani, standing in a red top and a dark skirt that clung tightly to her.

"Hello," Numair told her politely. "What are you doing in my dream?"

The woman smoothed her skirt nervously. "My name's Toshiko Sato," she replied. "I'm a friend of Jack's." She smiled hesitantly

Numair sighed, suddenly understanding. "This is part of George's bargain with Gainel, isn't it?"

Toshiko nodded, looking relieved. "Yes. Owen's just taught us how to walk through dreams, only I keep on missing George and getting you." She frowned, clearly not liking this.

Owen Harper, Numair assumed. Jack's contact. "Oh," he said and then, awkwardly, "Sorry?"

"It isn't _your_ fault," Toshiko huffed, irritated. She sat down on a rock that appeared out of nowhere. Numair supposed that it was his dream, after all, and sat down next to her. "It's just that it's so _inexact_," she complained, frustrated. "I can feel him just—slipping away, and every time I get a lock on him I get you. No offense," she added belatedly.

"None taken," Numair replied mildly, smiling at her. "I would think George would be easier, given his Sight."

"That's what Owen said," Toshiko sighed. "But I keep on missing. I tried the others, but they were blocked. Anyway, you're probably going to be waking up soon."

"I am?" Numair asked, confused.

Toshiko nodded. "Owen's gone to talk to Jack about his bargain with Gainel. Jack won't be pleased, and he's a light sleeper anyway. If he's angry enough, he'll wake himself up."

Numair nodded. "And I suppose Ianto's gone to speak with Jack as well?"

Toshiko shook her head sadly. "He tried. We all did. None of us can even find him, except for Owen."

Numair frowned thoughtfully. "Do you think it's because he's immortal?" It never crossed his mind that Toshiko, as a friend of Jack's, would not know this. She looked surprised.

"He told you?" she asked incredulously. Numair shrugged.

"We found out," he explained apologetically. Toshiko winced.

"Oh," she said. There was a silence.

"You worked for Torchwood," Numair said slowly after a moment. Toshiko nodded.

"Yes," she replied.

"What exactly did you do there?" he asked. Suddenly, he had another option. Ever question he'd never asked Jack bubbled to the surface. Hopefully Toshiko wouldn't be quite as hesitant to answer—would she? "I'm just curious, you understand—you don't have to answer me. Jack's a bit sensitive about the topic."

Toshiko stared at him. "What?" Numair asked, a little confused, and she shook her head.

"Ianto's right," she replied, wrinkling her forehead thoughtfully. "Something must've happened to him. I can't really imagine Jack being overly sensitive about _anything_. Usually he just changes the subject, if he's uncomfortable talking about something."

Numair gave her a crooked smile. "That's mostly our fault," he said apologetically. "I think this whole mission has just pushed a lot of wrong buttons for him."

Toshiko nodded slowly, almost to herself. "I suppose that makes sense. Anyway, we caught aliens. Torchwood, I mean. We went after unusual sightings of things, and collected whatever alien scrap that fell through the Rift." She shrugged.

"And weevils," Numair added with a small smile.

"And weevils," she agreed. "Although that was mostly Jack and Ianto, unless it got bad. They used to go weevil hunting together."

"That—explains more than it doesn't," Numair said, and Toshiko was just about to reply when something loud jarred Numair's dreams.

"That's probably Jack," Toshiko told him. "Tell him I say hello?"

"Alright," Numair replied, bemused, and then blinked awake.

* * *

"Jack."

Jack blinked in the harsh sunlight, coming to himself in front of the Millennium Center in Cardiff.

"Owen," he greeted his friend. "What's up?"

Owen shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I've got news," he said. "Gainel wanted me to bring it, rather than your little friends, so you don't freak at them."

Jack rolled his eyes. "This is what Alanna was talking about. I'm not going to be angry with you, Owen." Jack wandered away from the monument and over to the wharf, beckoning Owen to follow. Rolling his eyes, Owen did.

"You're not going to like it," he warned.

"Do I _ever_ like it?" Jack asked wryly.

"Point." Owen took a breath and leaned out over the railing, not looking at Jack. "Gainel made a bargain with George."

"I feel like Gainel's always making bargains," Jack replied cheerfully, but there was a dangerous _get on with it_ note to his voice. "What's the bargain?" He leaned his forearms on the railing too, looking out over the quay. The water was bright blue, brighter than it ever had been in real-life Cardiff. It almost looked like the water on Boeshane, his home colony in the fifty-first century. Earth water never looked like that. Jack sighed.

Owen paused. "I told you that George has the Sight, right?"

"Yeah…"

Owen took a breath and then took the plunge. "Well, George found Ianto."

Silence. Jack felt his muscles lock with shock.

"George—found—" Jack felt winded. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. A flash of anger, maybe, that the Tortallans hadn't told him, but mostly it was only shock. "How?" he breathed.

"George has the Sight," Owen reiterated. "He found Ianto, who found Tosh and this Stormwing called Rikash; Gainel wants them to help you find the Guardian."

"_What?_" Jack demanded, pushing himself away from the railing and staring wildly at Owen. "That is—that's the _worst_ idea I've— How can they even help? There's nothing after death," Jack ranted, and started to pace. "_Nothing. _ I've died enough times to know that."

"Yeah, I know," Owen broke in angrily. "But the Graveyard Hag woke Ianto up; he ran into this Stormwing and together they called Tosh. They have access to realms that you and I don't, because fuck knows I'm not going back there." Owen shivered.

"They—but that's _impossible_." Jack stared at Owen and gave a hysterical laugh. "Well, I suppose nothing's impossible. What the hell—what does this have to do with George?"

"George found them and called Gainel," Owen explained, "Who called me. I went and found them."

"And?" Jack breathed. Oddly enough, there was no anger at George – the man was doing right by his own pantheon, which was more than Jack could say he was doing. The less anger the gods felt towards the Tortallans, the better. So much for not caring, Jack thought, oddly calm.

"The tea boy's coming after you with the force of a fucking train," Owen sneered, and rolled his eyes when Jack's face lit up. "Tosh seems well," he added, a little bemusedly to himself. "And the bloody Stormwing reeks."

"What's he doing with a _Stormwing_?" Jack asked, coming back to himself.

"Apparently the Realms of the Dead here have no place for a dead Immortal," Owen muttered.

"Right," Jack replied. "Because that makes sense. How—I mean, can they cross over to the living realms?" Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Can we help them?" the very thought was enough to send a giddy thrill through him. To have Ianto back—Ianto and Tosh and Owen – his friends who were like his family, the Torchwood he had built… the thought was like a drug. Could he use a favor to do it? Would the gods even grant him favors, after the disaster with the Nepthalae?

"That's the bargain," Owen explained. "Life, or access to the Realms of the Dead if they help."

Jack gave a short, breathless laugh. "And the Realms of the Dead isn't nothing."

Owen's lips quirked a little. "No. No, it isn't. There's this city…" his voice trailed.

"They'll—have a place," Jack said quietly, wonderingly, and smiled gently at Owen, who scowled.

"Anyway," he growled, "I've been trying to teach them to do this." Owen waved a hand. "Walk through dreams, but it isn't going as planned. Jones has been trying to get in here since I did."

Jack stared. "He—he has?" Owen nodded.

"Well, of course he can't get in," Jack said angrily. "I'm the antithesis of death, remember? And I have good shields. It's a wonder that _you_ got in. You go out there and you tell him not to bother—not that I don't want to see him, of course," Jack amended, a little sadly. "But he'll hurt himself."

"You know he's not gonna listen," Owen told him, exasperated.

"Make him listen," Jack snapped.

Owen rolled his eyes. "I'm going to regret this—but anything you want me to relay?"

Jack looked at Owen for a long time, thinking hard. He knew better than to try to push Ianto away – the bargain that the man had made with Gainel was a good one, and it benefited Jack personally, as well. The conman in him said to send flowery words of praise and love, but the conman was just that—a conman. The hurting part of Jack's heart wanted to curl up somewhere and die at the thought of Ianto's loyalty, all misplaced, because Jack was a bastard and didn't deserve it. But, of course, he couldn't die.

"Tell him—" Jack rasped and then cleared his throat. "Tell him thank you. And—" his breath hitched, because how to say it? "I'm sorry. For everything."

Owen glared at him. "You're never going to stop apologizing, are you?"

"No," Jack replied sadly.

"Yeah, whatever," Owen muttered and vanished.

Jack blinked, opened his eyes, and yelled.


	16. Chapter 15

I'll be switching categories to the Immortals next chapter! I know this is sort of tiresome, but I like to keep this story moving so people from both fandoms can get to it. Don't worry – when I finish this story, I'll put it in the crossover section, so it'll be easily accessible. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

* * *

The Bad Wolf knew. She knew Everything. All that is, all that was, and all that ever could be. But all that there was, was _now,_ and right now the most important person, the most important moment in the whole wide universe was this right _now_ with the Doctor.

The fact that there were several _nows_ in her head was inconsequential. She loved the Doctor, and she needed him to be safe.

Even still, Jack Harkness, whom she also loved, echoed a wailing note of despair that sang counterpart to that of the Doctor and it threaded through the song that tumbled and burned in her mind. The Doctor's loneliness was a fact of the universe, something she could not fix – but Jack jarred on her senses. The Bad Wolf was only part human, and concentrating on two things at once was hard, but the part of her that was the heart of the Doctor's time ship could do it.

Veralidaine Sarrasri, the only one of Jack's friends who had-would ever see her, who had-would ever speak with her, did bear at least some attention, and certainly some warning. It was the Bad Wolf's fault that things had-would go so poorly for Jack, after all.

Even still, Veralidaine Sarrasri could not see Everything, and could not interpret Rose's warnings.

"Everything comes to dust," she cried once, a million times and to two different people. "All things. Everything dies!"

_And it's my fault!_

* * *

Daine woke with a jolt as something burned against her senses, something that roiled and blurred with color. She sat up half a second before anyone else noticed. The Bad Wolf lingered golden in her mind, whispering words Daine could not understand.

A breeze blew through camp, and the horses' nostrils flared, all five of them sending warnings to her about the smell. A second gust rustled the leaves on the trees, and the horses huffed anxiously, sidling, eyes rolling. The weevils crouched low, cowering in fear, lowing, and Daine bent to grab a whimpering, pink Kitten. There was something _wrong _here.

"A good night's sleep, honestly, is that so hard?" Alanna muttered, apparently sensing it as well, getting out of bed and grasping for her sword. George sat up blinking blearily, looking puzzled but also alarmed.

Something moved in the distance, stumbling toward them, a shadow in the woods. Colors roiled sickeningly in Daine's mind and suddenly, with a sinking feeling in her gut, she knew exactly what it was. The shadow was shaped like a man, if a man was made of some kind of horrible, stinking liquid, and it was making for camp. Jack rolled over in his blankets, blinking his eyes open and apparently he saw the creature in the woods, because he jerked up with a yell of surprise, jolting Numair awake.

Jack bolted out of his bed, grabbing for his revolver. "What the _hell_ is that?" he demanded, eyes on the thing that crashed in the woods. Numair rose slowly out of bed, glancing blearily at Daine who nodded at him grimly.

"Not a clue," George growled, but Daine recognized it. The sick feeling she got was utterly unmistakable.

"That's a Chaos being!" Numair breathed, apparently recognizing the thing as well. He moved as though to stand in front of Daine, as if it would do any good. Daine did not spare a moment for exasperation; she grabbed her bow, loaded a notch and fired. The creature, still just a shadow in the woods, approached at an alarming rate. It stared at her with sightless eyes and the arrow struck, melting slowly into a puddle as the creature continued stumbling towards them.

Five, ten, fifteen loud _cracks_ suddenly issued from Jack's revolver and the thing staggered back and then turned its head to face him. The head split slowly; a yawning mouth, dripping with ooze, let out a low moan.

"_Childkiller,_" it hissed in an echoing, awful voice and Jack went ridged.

Kitten shrieked furiously, leaping in front of the frozen Jack; she trilled loudly, louder and louder until the creature fell to its knees, clapping sticky, liquid hands over its ears. Two knives stuck into its chest, courtesy of George, and two more arrows from Alanna followed; they melted, like Daine's arrows before them.

Jack shook himself out of whatever stupor he was in, shot at it again and shouted, "Untie the weevils! We can't beat it, we have to run!"

Alanna didn't argue. She struck the binding rope with her sword; the four weevils fled as Numair shouted a word that tore the air. The ground quaked and groaned as a chasm opened up beneath the Chaos creature and then snapped shut.

The five of them stared, gasping.

"It's not going to work," Numair said hurriedly after a moment, gray faced and clearly tired; even a few weeks after the Nepthalae, he was still weaker than usual. "We have to get out of here."

Alanna gestured; their packs rolled up, and Numair did the same. The mages had them packed very quickly, and Daine, Jack and George saddled the horses.

We have to run, Cloud told Daine urgently as she tightened the girth firmly. We have to run _now, _Daine.

I know, I know! Daine cried back. I'm going as fast as I can!

Not fast enough! Darkmoon wailed, prancing uneasily as George tightened his girth.

There was a puddle starting to ooze from the ground. Kitten shrilled at it and it froze, trembling, and reached for her with one awful tentacle.

"Don't you _dare,_" Jack snarled, grasping Kitten around the middle, pulling her away from the ooze and taking her with him as he slung himself onto Red. He shot at the puddle with his revolver, but of course it did not help.

It's not working! Red squealed in horror, seeming to forget that Jack could not hear him.

Daine urged Cloud away from their camp and deeper into the woods, hoping to draw the thing away from the road.

"Chaos thing?" Alanna panted as the horses broke through the underbrush, as quickly as they could. "What on earth—"

"Like the skinners," Numair gasped. "In the Immortals war. But what's it doing here?"

"The weevils," Daine said grimly. "Remember, Jack? The badger said—"

"Aliens make Chaos stronger," Jack growled, holding a struggling Kitten to his chest. "Right, this damn planet. For every good thing, it gives you something so damn _mad_—"

"How do we stop it?" George asked, urging his horse to go faster. Dove was only too happy to comply.

"We don't," Numair said grimly. "We can't fight it; it's too strong. We have to run."

"But we're barely outside of Corus!" Alanna protested.

"This is why we're going away from the city," Jack muttered. "Hopefully it'll scare the weevils away." Kitten squealed in fear and pointed with a clawed finger; the creature was stumbling quickly towards them, and everything it touched turned slimy, sickly, and then to an oozing liquid.

They sped their horses, and suddenly Jack stopped.

No, no, no, Red wailed in fear.

"Jack!" Daine cried, wheeling a protesting Cloud around. Numair shouted, pulling Spots to a halt as Alanna and George swung to their companion.

"Are you _insane_?" Alanna screeched, but Jack looked up at the sky, at the creature and then back at them.

"We can't fight this thing?" he demanded.

"Jack—" Daine said desperately, and Kitten screamed. The creature burst through the leaves, and Red squealed and threatened to rear in fright.

"RIGHT!" Jack bellowed to the sky. "LET'S CALL THIS A FAVOR, SHALL WE? GET RID OF THAT!"

The oozing creature froze, its mouth opening so far that its head nearly split in two. Something unpleasant oozed from its toothless gums, and it wailed, long and low. Steam hissed from the top of its head, and then it burst into flame. Mynoss, the Judgment God, stood behind it, looking Jack dead in the eye. The Tortallans gaped.

"One more of ten," he said, voice soft.

"I want protection from those things," Jack panted, "and we'll call it a deal."

Mynoss canted his head to one side. "Eight more left," he said quietly, and began to fade away.

"Hey!" Jack called, urging a protesting Red towards the god as Kitten shrilled to Mynoss at Jack's indignation. "I said I wanted protection from—"

"Shall we make it seven, then?" Mynoss asked mildly. "My brothers and sisters are not pleased with you, Jack Harknesss."

Jack snarled. "No," he spat. "Call it eight. How did it get here?"

"You did not do as we asked," Mynoss replied firmly in his whispery voice. "Queen Uusoae gets stronger. She fights us, Jack Harkness, and if you are not careful, she will win. We let one of her realms through, to show you what will happen – a controlled demonstration. Aliens bring her strength; too many and we will lose control. We want these weevils destroyed. Do as we ask, or the deal is off, and we destroy you as well." He looked over Jack's shoulder to the Tortallans. "You will all be forgiven, of course, due to your status as favored and Godborn. Nevertheless, should Harkness be destroyed it will be expected that you kill these weevils in his stead." He faded away. Jack growled, clutching a muttering Kitten to his chest.

I do not know what just happened and I do not care, Red told Daine as soon as Mynoss had vanished. Tell Jack that if he ever does that again, I'll throw him.

With good reason, Daine agreed, but when she opened her mouth, she saw Jack's stricken face and did not nag him. I'll tell him later, she told Red.

"Don't argue," Numair said quickly to Jack, urging Spots closer to Red. "Mynoss is the Judgment God. He uses reason, nothing else. You can't change his mind."

"We have to kill them," Jack said flatly, furiously, "Perfect. Genocide, just what I need to brighten up my day." He scowled bitterly. The knuckles around Red's reins had turned white, and he was trembling slightly as he urged Red through the brush.

It called him Childkiller, Cloud whispered, but Daine was too distracted to reply.

"G-genocide?" she whispered. Even Alanna looked sick at Jack's term.

"It isn't—" the lady knight started, but Jack glared at her.

"Ordered to kill an entire species, just because of what they are? That's genocide. We can't go against the gods' wishes." His voice dripped with scorn, but he clutched at Kitten with a sort of desperation_. _

"We can send them back," Daine whispered. "Can't we? If we knew how, we could send them away."

"Daine, if the gods—" Numair started nervously, but the wildmage glared at him.

"I'm not killing them just because they're hungry, Numair, that isn't fair!" she cried. "That's like killing a horse for eating grass, like killing a wolf for hunting deer. I won't do it!"

Thunder growled from somewhere, and three sets of eyes turned to Daine. Numair sat ridged, staring at Daine with wide, frightened eyes. She looked back at him defiantly and he sighed.

"Don't get killed," he whispered in a barely audible voice. "For the love of Mithros don't get killed!"

Jack looked from Numair to Daine and then snarled almost to himself before he glared at the sky.

"She won't do it," he told the clouds darkly. "None of them will. _I'll _do it."

"Jack—" George protested, but Jack turned flaming blue eyes to him.

"No. I'll not have this staining your hands. I'll track them myself; you four—" his voice broke. "You four have to help Ianto and the others find the Guardian," he finished and then swallowed.

Alanna, Numair and Daine stared at him. George sighed. "They spoke to you, then?"

"Owen did," Jack replied darkly. "He said that it was Gainel's plan not to let you tell me. It was a rotten plan—I would've listened to you." He scowled bitterly and turned Red deeper into the woods, not looking at any of them, radiating fury although not, Daine suspected, directed at them.

"Toshiko says hello," Numair broke the sudden silence, voice small. "She said she couldn't get to you or George; she kept getting me by accident."

Jack's breath hitched and he stopped Red, but he didn't turn around. "Tosh," he whispered hoarsely, looking down into his gelding's mane. "She preferred Tosh."

"Nice woman," Numair coaxed, bringing Spots up alongside Red. "Complained about how inexact that dream thing is."

Jack chuckled sadly. "She was a genius, Tosh," he murmured, almost to himself. "If it's mostly guesswork, she would hate it."

"Your Ianto was furious," George added, coming up on Jack's other side. He smiled. "I woke up to an irate twenty-five-year-old yelling in my head. The Stormwing Rikash kept on telling him to shut his mouth and do something useful. They're quite the pair."

Jack smiled a little, looking over at George with faraway eyes. "My Ianto," he whispered achingly, so quiet that Daine almost didn't hear him. Gently, she changed the subject, trying to save Jack from further pain.

"How come they don't visit us?" she asked, sharing a glance at Alanna.

Numair shook his head. "Toshiko—sorry, Tosh—said that you were blocked."

"Godborn," George murmured, and then glanced at his wife, "And the Goddess Chose you."

Alanna nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense." She grinned at Jack. "Can I tell you how glad I am not to have to tiptoe around you anymore? That was really irritating, Jack Harkness."

Jack scowled at her. "Hardly my fault," he snapped. "It was your damned dream god's plan!"

Alanna snorted. "Only because you keep on avoiding the subject. We've been walking around you on tender hooks since I've met you."

"Alanna!" Daine scolded, but the Lioness only huffed.

Jack was silent for a moment, but Daine was relieved to see not sadness or bitterness, but contemplation instead. "If George died," he said quietly with a nod to the Baron, "You wouldn't want to remember it, would you? You'd just want to move on." He sighed. "And I tried, I really did, but it all—but everything—" he took a deep breath.

"S'alright, lad," George soothed. "We understand. Really."

"And it _is_ irritating," Jack added crossly. "The Doctor was like that too. If I'd met you three years later than I did, I'd've been fine. It's just still raw, that's all." He laughed a little, but it was bitter. "Three years. Like I could count three years anymore. I've lost track."

"Maybe that means it's time for you to start keeping track again," Daine suggested softly. "Stay here. When this is done, Jack. Stay."

Jack shook his head. "Don't you see, Daine?" he whispered, eyes old and tired, "I have to keep on moving. Everyone _dies_."

Kitten cheeped in protest, clutching at him with silver claws.

"This world has a place for Immortals," Numair replied, voice low as he watched the dragon cling to the other man. "Not everyone dies, here."

Jack looked down at Kitten. She hummed at him, eyes bright.

"You could take care of her when Numair and I get too old," Daine suggested. "She'll be an infant for about thirty years, and then a child for a few hundred."

"I can't stay forever," Jack said quietly. He hugged the dragon a little and then sighed. "But I'll—I'll stay for a while. If you want."

"Good," Alanna said briskly. "We need someone like you at Pirate's Swoop."

Jack stared at her. "What?"

"Those cogs that move the gates are unwieldy, and you've got plenty of technological knowledge. Build us a better mechanism," she ordered, but her eyes twinkled with the joke.

Jack laughed, and it broke the melancholy mood. "Yeah, alright," he said, and then repeated himself, quirking a small smile. "Alright."

* * *

Remember - IMMORTALS category next chapter! Please leave a review :)


	17. Chapter 16

As their horses picked their way through the forest, conversation had long since dropped off. Numair looked down onto Spots' black and white neck, sighing heavily. Mynoss' decree hung like a shadow over their heads and while he understood the reason for it, it still seemed harsh. Finally, Alanna broke the silence.

"Well," she said flatly, "It's not like we don't kill spidrens for what they are."

"I still try to avoid it," Daine growled. Numair shot her a glance, concerned at her tone and trying to catch her eye. He wanted to comfort her, but she looked angry rather than miserable.

"You _are_ avoiding it," Jack replied sharply. "_I'm_ doing it. You all are helping the others find the Guardian." His voice brooked no argument. Kitten, draped in front of him on the saddle, looked up, decided that she did not want to join the conversation, and then looked back down again, braiding Red's mane with silver claws.

"And what does that mean?" George asked softly.

"No idea," Jack muttered. "I think we should track these weevils, and then at nightfall you'll all make camp, and I'll go out to find them."

"And get eaten by spidrens," Alanna put in dryly. Numair winced, but the sentiment was a good one. "Might I remind you," she continued, "That I'm a knight of the realm? I think I can handle myself in a fight."

Jack looked back at her for a long moment. Then he sighed and seemed to fold in on himself. "I don't suppose I'll be able to stop you, will I?" he asked quietly. "You remind me of someone I knew, once. You're stubborn," he added darkly.

Alanna nodded. "Yes, I am," she growled. "And I'm helping. I don't care what you say."

"Fine," Jack muttered sourly, but his blue eyes were sad. "Do what you like. I don't care."

"Good," George said derisively. "Daine and Numair can set camp, and Alanna and I will go hunting with you."

Numair spluttered in protest and opened his mouth, but Jack, scowling, cut him off, addressing George but also looking firmly at Numair.

"_You_ need to stay behind," Jack told them.

"And why's that?" George asked mildly, although there was a determined glint in his eye. Numair sat up straight, ready to back his friend.

"Because Ianto can reach you," Jack snapped, and Numair subsided, slumping on Spots' saddle. That was a good point. "I can't communicate with him and Alanna and Daine can't either, but you and Numair are fair game. I need you both safe and asleep, so you can relay information."

George frowned unhappily, but then nodded. Numair thought briefly of Toshiko, and wondered whether it would be more useful to go with Jack. That way, Tosh wouldn't get him by accident, and might be able to reach George, instead.

"And Daine." Jack halted Red, looking the wildmage in the eye. Numair's thoughts were effectively distracted and his hackles rose protectively. If Jack put Daine in danger… "I want you to try to find out how the weevils come here."

"I'm not calling them," she replied flatly, giving Numair an exasperated look when he made an indigent noise. He glared at her.

"No," Jack said. "You're right; that would be unfair. But if we know how they come to be here, we can send them back, or prevent them from coming here altogether."

Daine watched him for a moment and then nodded slowly. "I can do that," she murmured, almost to herself as she thought about it. Numair shifted his weight uncomfortably. He could see where this was leading, and for Daine's safety, he didn't like it.

"We're not going against Mynoss' decree," Numair growled uneasily, finally joining in the conversation. "I don't know about you, Jack, but I would rather not be punished by the gods."

"We're not going against his decree," Jack huffed, but he wouldn't look Numair in the eye. "We're—"

"Tweaking it a little," George supplied, and Jack quirked his lips a little in amusement, even as Numair glared.

"Exactly," Jack said.

"As you say, Jack," Numair sighed as he conceded, and then quirked a reluctant smile. "It's your funeral."

"Something like that," Jack replied with a bright grin that most definitely didn't meet his eyes. Numair winced at his own tactlessness.

"That was thoughtless. Sorry." In his mind, Numair gave himself a hearty kick.

"What was the bit about the not-tiptoeing?" Jack asked, his lips softening into a smile that was almost real. "Don't worry about it. I could have a funeral," he added, a little whimsically. "It would just be silly. Have I ever told you about the first time I woke up in a morgue? Must've been the third or fourth time I died. Awkward, you know, when the undertaker came into the room."

Alanna snorted. "What'd you tell him?"

Jack grinned. "'There's room enough for two in here.' I've never seen a man so big move so fast."

Numair chuckled, still feeling guilty.

As they rode their horses through the woods, Numair noticed that Jack had smoothly diverted the conversation to inconsequential, amusing things that rallied their low spirits. Daine was laughing a laugh he loved, the one that interrupted her own stories, when she suddenly paused; they all heard someone's stomach rumble

"We never ate, did we?" Daine asked the general air. There were several murmurs of agreement. Rather than dismounting, they continued ahead. George pulled out a few pieces of salt pork and, on Jack's suggestion, wrapped it in bread to pass around. The bread, barely a few days old, was still reasonably fresh and the solution to their problem practical. They continued on. Jack, who didn't look particularly hungry, snuck Kitten pieces of his food but Numair did not comment.

Daine allowed her senses to expand and led them north, although she warned of Coldfangs. Jack looked wary, apparently remembering Numair's explanation from a few days ago.

"That—sounds unpleasant," he said slowly. "How many are there, Daine?"

Daine cocked her head, as if listening. "Just one," she said, "_maybe _two. The weevils are farther up, still headed toward the city. I think there's another brook nearby."

"Well then," George said. "Lead the way. We'll make camp by the brook, and Alanna and Jack can go find these beasties."

"I hope you mean weevils," Jack stated dryly. "Because I've stolen a fair amount in my lifetime. I'd rather not become someone's lunch."

"That might be nasty," Alanna quipped and Jack winced.

"You've no idea," he muttered.

* * *

Numair fell asleep quickly that night, more quickly than he had anticipated. Apparently the scar from the Chaos being and Mynoss' frightening decree had exhausted him more than he had imagined. His dreams were not unpleasant, but certainly not what he expected. He was just explaining to a three headed cow that Kitten was only a baby, and it was unfair to expect a baby become a knight, when a familiar woman appeared.

"Tosh!" Numair exclaimed delightedly. The three headed cow protested indigently at the invasion, but then remarked that perhaps Tosh could solve this debate for them.

"Hello, Numair," Tosh said, giggling at the cow a little. "This is an odd dream."

"Yes," he agreed, and the cow faded away. "I'm glad you interrupted it. He was rather annoying. Still can't find George?"

Tosh scowled. "No." She sat down, and Numair sat next to her.

"How is the search for the Guardian going?" he asked, for politeness' sake. He'd only met her the once, but Numair had liked Tosh, and besides, she was Jack's friend.

"Badly," she replied, irritated. "Ianto's upset that he can't reach Jack. And with good reason, I understand completely but—we have a mission!"

Numair nodded in understanding. "I suppose I'd feel the same, though," he said mildly. "If I couldn't reach Daine."

Tosh sighed, looking frustrated. "I guess," she muttered.

There was a silence. Numair's subconscious seemed rather active tonight, as several things wandered across the dreamscape. A laughing image of Daine rode Cloud across a green field a few times, and Tosh smiled indulgently at the soppy look that stole over the mage's face.

"You really love her, don't you?" she asked. Numair glanced at back at her, as he had been distracted when the image of Daine showed up, and offered Tosh a smile, eyes still softened with affection for his magelet.

"Yes. She's exasperating, and not a little infuriating, but I do."

The girl on the pony waved and rode off into a dazzling sunset. Numair gave a very small, lovesick sigh, heart warming at nothing in particular. That was often the way of Numair's dreams – strong emotion felt with minimal prompting. It was nothing in particular out of the ordinary.

The dreamscape suddenly darkened, and Tosh rose, frowning. "What's this?" she asked. "You're not going to have a nightmare, are you?"

"I hope not," Numair muttered, standing with her and looking around in confusion, the warmth in his chest evaporating with dream-swiftness. The sky became twisted with strangely colored things, and the world felt heavy, the air stale as though they were stuck in a box.

"Hang on, are those circuits?" Tosh asked delightedly, looking up at the twisted metal in the sky.

"That's the food storage receptacle from the Nepthalae ship," Numair recognized suddenly, and the atmosphere lightened as easily as that; the black box thumped to land on green grass next to his feet. "Jack said you were a genius," he murmured thoughtfully, picking it up and grinning at Tosh's flush. "Do you think you could fix it?" He handed it to her.

Tosh cocked her head to one side, examining the box. "This isn't the real thing," she said slowly. "It's a dream-version. It might not be accurate."

"It's accurate," Numair replied dryly. "I've been looking over Jack's shoulder at that thing for a while now. I feel like I've memorized it. If you tell me how, I can likely fix it. If you can figure it out, that is."

Tosh's eyes flashed at the challenge. "I can fix it," she stated flatly, and sat down again, this time with an air of determination.

* * *

The Bad Wolf is. She is, was, and will be forever, until the universe ends and begins again.

She follows Jack, ever and always; golden light to bring him to life each time he dies. The Daleks must not kill Jack on Satellite Five, but she cannot understand that each time she brings him to life, he is not being killed by those that she thinks are killing him. She can understand Chaos, however, and she can see that Chaos is free and that she is somehow, somewhen, somewhere responsible.

She can see Everything. All that is, all that was, and all that ever could be.

And yet Jack _hurts, _and she cannot understand it.

_But this is wrong! You can't control life and death!_

"But I can. The Sun and the Moon. The Day and the Night… but why do they hurt?"

They must not hurt. _Jack _must not hurt.

* * *

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	18. Chapter 17

Lalala, more editing...

* * *

This dream-walking thing was really very easy, once one go the hang of it. Ianto strode quickly through dreams, frustrated. Really, it was ridiculous, he chided himself. And there hadn't been any reason to make such a fuss in George's dream. insecurity gnawed at him, though, as did vain anger at the strange block around Jack. Ianto was not the sort who needed constant reassurance, but it would have been nice to see Jack, to know that he was still wanted.

He was still going to help, of course. That was not in question.

"Ianto—Ianto, you idiot, will you wait!" Rikash called, but Ianto paid him no heed.

Scenes flickered past as he walked and then jogged, enjoying the sense of speed. In the dead space, one could be walking or running and it all looked the same, just darkness. As Ianto walked faster through dreams, the scenery past faster too, and it was gratifying. There were trees and flowers and cities, some creature that he had never seen before in a dream that glowed brightly: long, distant platforms of land, colors ever changing. He could hear Rikash's steel wings behind him, shouting for him to slow down. Ianto kept moving, feeling annoyed and hurt and helpless and above all else, wanting to be alone for just a little while.

He was surprised when he barreled head first into Owen.

"He's awake, you moron, you won't be able to find him," the medic snapped, steadying Ianto with a hand when he staggered.

"Then I need the walk," Ianto growled, shaking him off and breezing past into another dream. Owen followed; Ianto cursed him silently. "It's been a while since I've seen anything other than Rikash or Tosh, and dreams are more interesting than nothing, don't you think?"

"Ianto!" Rikash shot across the dreamscape, flying low and banking sharply, cutting him off and stopping Ianto short. He wanted to scream in frustration .

"Rikash!" Ianto snapped in surprise, coming up short. "Surely you can last for two seconds on your own?"

"So you can run off? I don't think so," Rikash sneered, flapping his wings hard to hover at almost eye level. The breeze from the motion blew back Ianto's hair and he briefly enjoyed it – he could, finally, physically feel _something_.

"Ianto, you have to stop!" called Tosh, bursting into the dream, gasping for breath she didn't need. Her hair was slightly tousled, as if she'd been torn from some infinitely complicated work and she was holding something dark and metal in her hand. It dissolved into the new dream before Ianto could see it clearly.

"Oh, honestly!" Ianto cried, exasperated. "It's not like I'm about to jump off a bridge! I'm just going for a walk_._"

This was absurd. He and Rikash had been clinging to each other in the darkness for who knew how long – Ianto had really just wanted some peace, some time to think. Jack was apparently unreachable, confusion and hurt that Lisa apparently no longer wanted him haunted his mind, and with the ability to walk through dreams, Ianto had thought, if only briefly, that he might be able to get a moment for himself to clear his head. Apparently he was wrong, as everyone and their mother wanted to make sure he wasn't going to- what? Run off? Did he _look _like he was that stupid?

"A walk to _where?_" Rikash demanded. Ianto growled, frustrated.

"Owen taught us how to walk through dreams, or didn't you notice?"

"Um," Rikash said.

"Ianto, mate, you went too fast, didn't I tell you not to go too bloody fast?" Owen snarled. "There's stuff around Dream, places we're not supposed to go—will you stop for two seconds to look around?" His voice had gone up an octave in what sounded like fear.

Ianto paused and looked, _really _looked. He swallowed in shock.

This was not a dream. Or, if it was, he wondered about the dreamer. It was changing constantly, constantly enough that, had he been alive, it would have made him queasy. Distance was meaningless; the world melted and shifted like slow moving lava. The horizon was _moving_, coming closer and then farther away, not a straight line but something that warped and dripped and oozed. There were no flat surfaces, no washed out sky but instead something dripping, like a wet painting, although no liquid touched the ground. The world was colored with yellow, brown and gray, with sickening bursts of violet and green, twisting and morphing.

Something bleated like a goat, in the distance, although to call it a distance would be a mistake.

"This—isn't a dream," Ianto muttered, alarmed. How had he not seen it?

"I'm so glad you've joined the fucking party," Owen snapped viciously.

"Where are we?" Tosh asked, taking in the surroundings with wide eyes.

"I don't know," Rikash replied uneasily, having landed. He dug his claws into the ground and yelped when it heaved like a living thing, tossing him into the air.

Owen leaped away in shock when the ground twisted. "What the hell?" The colors changed from yellow to green to violet as the ground churned sickeningly. Owen spun to Ianto and Tosh, clearly frightened. "We must've crossed realms. We're not in Dream. We have to leave. We have to leave _now._"

"Wait," Ianto said slowly and walked away a little, although a little became a lot in the changing perspective of the place.

"Ianto!" Rikash called. He sounded afraid. "Ianto!"

But there was something there, and when Ianto came upon it he had to stifle a gasp.

There was a form tied to the ground, although tied _by_ the ground seemed to be a more apt description. Bits of the sickly dirt clung to it, oozing like a liquid, and the more it struggled the more it was ensnared, as though by an octopus. It twisted once; human-shaped and naked, it was clearly male.

"He's—" Tosh whispered, and it rung loud in the twisting, changing silence, "he's trapped." She came up behind Ianto to stand at his elbow. Owen followed, Rikash circling like a vulture over him.

The creature threw his head back and let out a bray like a goat, the strange, oozing substance curling around two massive, curved horns that curled from behind his ears. His fur, gray and white streaked, was matted and knotted, slicked with the stuff like an otter covered in oil and as Ianto approached the creature seemed to get bigger, massive, at least three times his size. A huge, snake like tail lashed once and then jerked, caught by the sticky substance.

"That's—that's him," Rikash breathed, wings fanning as he hovered. "That's the Guardian."

"It is?" Tosh asked, looking up at the Stormwing.

"It is. I don't know how I know, but I know. What is this place?" Owen asked the general air.

"I think we already came to the consensus that we have no idea," Ianto muttered dryly.

"Someone's dream?" Tosh suggested.

Owen shook his head slowly. "If it were a dream, Gainel would've found the Guardian sooner," he said. "I told you. We left Dream. This must be a boarder place—between Dream and—and nothing."

The creature twisted again, struggling; one of the arms of liquid that held him stretched like Silly Putty, and then snapped with a loud _crack_. The Guardian of the Gates brayed, trying to free his horns, but the ropes of sticky substance clung to him tightly. The broken one reattached and he let out a sound of dismay.

"What's that?" Tosh asked, picking her way closer to the creature—although, of course, 'closer' was a poor way to describe the depthless place.

"Tosh—" Owen warned, voice unable to hide anxiety as Tosh stepped forward. She bent down and lifted something that glittered.

"It's a net," Rikash said thoughtfully, swooping over to her. "A golden net."

"He should have a spear, too," Owen added reluctantly.

"Yes," Ianto agreed. "There." He gestured.

To call it a spear would be an understatement; the thing was easily four times the size of Ianto himself and twice as thick around the middle. It was gold as well, although it glittered in a way that gold did not and the point of it was not sharp but a blue stone of some kind, something that was not a sapphire.

"How do we get him out of here?" Rikash asked. Tosh cocked her head, considering the net.

"Owen," she said slowly. "Will he be able to walk through dreams, too?"

"Dunno," Owen muttered, eying the struggling form.

"Some help you are," she tossed at him, and then added, "And this net. What's its purpose?"

Owen shrugged. "Presumably to keep stuff away from the Gate. Why?"

"I figured it was something like that," she said. "What if we threw the net over him?"

"—and then trap him even more?" Ianto replied incredulously. Tosh gave him an unamused look.

"Well," she reasoned, "We're dealing with gods and mythology here, right? The net keeps things that aren't from his world away, and things that are part of his world in. Perhaps it can keep things that aren't him away, and scare away this—goopy stuff." She waved at it.

Ianto thought about it. "Well, it's better than standing here," he said after a moment. Owen looked from Tosh to the net, and then nodded slowly.

"How do we get that close?"

Rikash, hovering above them, made his wings clash to get their attention. "Flying ally here," he drawled. "I could bring it over. But—a word of caution. If we free him, whoever is keeping him captive may notice."

* * *

Jack and Alanna returned late from their weevil hunt, unsuccessful. George roused briefly, blinking a little blearily.

"Don't even talk," Alanna muttered, annoyed beyond words. "I just want to go to sleep; I'm exhausted, and Captain Idiot over there kept on leading us in circles. _I'm_ a better tracker than that."

"That's because the weevils are going in circles," Jack growled back, irritated, taking out his own bedroll. "The tracks just start. You can't just appear out of nowhere."

"Maybe we should have followed the tracks, instead of going backwards," Alanna snapped.

"We could've found their den," Jack grumbled. He smoothed the blankets down and curled up there.

Alanna huffed indignantly and sat next to the supine George, who chuckled and placed an arm around her, coaxing her down into the blankets.

"Relax, Lioness," he murmured. "You can worry in the morning."

Alanna sighed and relented, lying down and resting her head on his chest. "Jus' frustrating, that's all," she replied, already drowsy. George hummed back at her, stroking her red hair until he felt her body go lax, asleep. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes, drifting off as well.

When he woke, it was late morning, and Daine, Numair and Kitten were already up. The wildmage had her head on Numair's shoulder, watching him do something that was partially obscured by the glowing embers of the fire. Jack was a mess of blankets, although he seemed to be awake; two blue eyes peeked lazily out from underneath a flat pillow. Alanna remained dead to the world, so George carefully extricated himself.

"Morning," Daine said lowly, so as not to wake Alanna or disturb Jack, who looked like he was drifting with his eyes open.

"G'morning," George responded in kind. "Do we have any breakfast?"

"Kit found some blueberries," Daine murmured. George nodded and glanced at Kitten, who seemed to have gorged herself, to judge by the purple stains all over her scales. He turned back to Daine and Numair, peering around the fire to see what the mage was doing. He was busily fiddling with Jack's black box thing while Daine looked on.

"Careful with that," George warned him, reaching for some berries from the dragon's pile. She muttered sullenly, but did not protest otherwise.

Numair huffed, poking a wire with a twig. "I spoke to Tosh last night. She told me how to—Shakith curse it!" A spark flashed and singed the mage's fingertips. Daine snorted with laughter, reaching for his hand and pressing a kiss to the burnt digit. The mage smiled at her warmly, and looked down to continue to fiddle.

"Break it, and I shall be very upset with you," Jack's voice emerged drowsily from his pile of blankets.

"I thought you were asleep," Numair accused, shaking his burnt finger.

"I am," Jack replied, burrowing. Daine chuckled again, and moved away from her mage to make some toast for George.

* * *

Right then! A little bit of editing. Sorry for the lack-of-new chapter tonight (April 2nd), but I still don't have access to my regular computer, with the new stuff saved on it. Never fear, though! I'll have it by tomorrow, and you'll get your two chapters then!


	19. Chapter 18

Rikash grunted with exertion as he dragged the golden net into the air. Ianto bent to lift parts of it, feeding it into the air as the Stormwing gained altitude. Tosh came up beside him, helping as well, but Owen stood a little behind them with an uneasy look on his face.

The Guardian brayed again, jerking in his prison, but one massive green goat's eye swung onto them and he stilled. The sickly colored ropes shifted restlessly, and one wound slowly on his left horn.

"Right," Ianto told him, feeling silly, but also feeling as though he should try to communicate. "We don't know if this will work—"

"Oh, honestly, like it can understand you," Owen snapped.

"It might," Tosh defended, and Owen rolled his eyes.

"I'm releasing," Rikash warned, hovering above the Guardian, net glittering in his claws. The three Torchwood agents braced themselves.

The net fell slowly, billowing like a sheet, and spread itself gracefully around the Guardian.

There was a silence. Ianto held his unnecessary breath.

And then the Guardian screeched like a sacrifice being slaughtered as the net glowed yellow, brighter and brighter until it was blinding to look at. The world, shifting and changing, jerked, and there was a howling, whining scream from everywhere at once. The tendrils of ooze caging the Guardian hissed alarmingly and then curled to ash. He struggled, caught in his own net now, and then threw it off with a triumphant bellow. He was free.

"Yes!" Ianto enthused quietly, while Rikash whooped from the air and Tosh and Owen beamed at each other.

The Guardian took a step, and his foot sunk into the ground.

"Oh, bloody hell," Owen muttered.

"Owen!" Tosh cried, lunging forward when the medic yelped, a dark, shifting tendril from the ground winding around his ankle. From above, Rikash gave an eagle's scream as the air solidified around him, tangling horribly with his flapping wings.

"We need to leave!" Ianto called, pulling away from a tendril of the stuff that tried to grip his own ankle.

"No kidding!" Owen cried, a gun appearing in his hand. He shot at the ground, and the stuff recoiled. "Run!"

The Guardian seemed to understand the sentiment, because he jerked his foot from the ground, standing on his net. Lifting his spear, he pointed it and shouted; blue light shot from the stone at the tip and the ground, screaming, recoiled. Another shot to the air; Rikash plummeted, caught himself in an off-balance glide before winking out of existence, vanishing back into the darkness of the dead space.

"Rikash!" Ianto called, concerned and loyal to his friend, and followed into the darkness.

Tosh and Owen appeared soon after, although Owen was wide-eyed with unease. The Guardian, braying, appeared behind them, spear and net in either hand. Owen started to shake, hunching slightly in the darkness.

"I need to find Gainel," he said flatly. "I can't stay here, I need to find—"

The nothing of death had no temperature. It was neither hot nor cold, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. It was also eerily silent.

The distant, threatening rattling and the sudden temperature drop was glaringly obvious. Rikash's sudden shivers clacked and clanged over the low, rattle-snake hiss.

Ianto rubbed his arms.

"Has anyone noticed—?" Tosh began, but was interrupted by Owen's yell.

Ianto felt himself seized violently by the shoulders and hoisted up. There was no pain, of course, because he was dead, but he had a sickening feeling of knowing that there _should_ be pain, and a great deal of it. He looked up and saw Rikash, who had dug his claws into Ianto's shoulder muscle, pulling him up and away from the creature in the darkness.

It was slung low but massive, like a komodo dragon, lizard-like tongue sliding out to taste air that was not, technically, there. The pebbled scales on its sides were dark green and gleaming, reflecting light crazily in every direction, casting tiny rainbows as though the air were saturated with water. Its mouth opened and it hissed, long and low; a secondary set of fangs dropped, and something that looked unpleasantly like venom dripped from the points. The alarming rattling sliced through the darkness; there was some kind of hard end to the creature's tail, and it clattered and hissed like a rattlesnake.

"Coldfang!" Rikash cried, swooping down to grab Tosh with his other claw and then banking, missing, when the creature lunged. "It's a Coldfang! Find Gainel, now! _Run, you idiots!_"

Owen did not need telling twice. He cast an apologetic look to Tosh and then vanished as the creature lunged after him. Tosh let out a shout of alarm as another of the creatures appeared behind the first, stalking towards her.

"Rikash—" Ianto warned, unable to articulate the fact that, if his friend did not lift Tosh out of danger _right now,_ Ianto would not be held accountable for his actions.

"I know, I know," Rikash hissed, banking, swooping low and then missing again as one of the great lizards snapped at him. "But you're awkward to fly with, and they're making it cold!"

"Tosh, run!" Ianto yelled, and Tosh made an exasperated noise as she dodged one of the creatures.

"Do I not look like I'm trying?" she shouted. She whirled on the creature, a gun appearing in her hand. She shot once, twice, but it passed through the creature like smoke.

"That won't work, they're alive," Rikash growled. "And we're barely ideas."

"They're _alive_? How is that even possible?" Ianto demanded, or tried to, because his voice cut off in a squeak when Rikash dove. He missed, cursing, but Ianto didn't; as Rikash banked away Ianto grabbed Tosh's arm and the Stormwing jerked in surprise before climbing higher, the Coldfangs hissing after him. Ianto changed his grip, holding Tosh under the shoulder as they rose. Rikash was right—she was weightless, but her shape and angle were awkward.

"The Guardian!" Tosh hissed, and Ianto joined Rikash in his cursing.

"He's fine," Rikash said swiftly. "Don't worry, he's fine. He's not the thief; we are."

"What the _hell_ are you talking about?" Ianto looked up at the Stormwing. He had to turn away, feeling sick when he saw the steel claw imbedded in his shoulder.

"Coldfangs guard things and hunt thieves," Rikash explained, banking, flying in a slow circle as though caught in a heat thermal, although of course there was no heat here. The Coldfangs remained below them, hissing and rattling.

"And he was the object, not the taker," Ianto muttered, but he searched below. "Where is he?"

"No idea," Tosh said, but after a pause, she pointed."There!"

The Guardian, alarmingly, had lain down on the ground. The Coldfangs ignored him, but the massive creature did not seem to care. As they watched, he began to fade, and Rikash started to curse again.

"We're in the dead space," he snarled. "He's dying!"

"You know what? I should just stop asking why. Guardian!" Ianto shouted. "Guardian of the Gates!" He looked up at Rikash. "What the hell is his name?"

"No clue," the Stormwing snapped. The Coldfangs rattled beneath them, but the Guardian did not stir.

"Guardian!" Tosh called, adding to Ianto's noise.

Rikash banked, circling the Guardian like a vulture. "How the hell are we going to get him out of here?"

* * *

"I want you safe. My Doctor. Protected from the false god."

That goes for Jack too, Rose Tyler thought, barely a whisper beneath the pain of the Bad Wolf crowding in her mortal head. Jack should not hurt. There must be a way for him not to hurt.

* * *

To say the Owen ran as fast as he could, would be an understatement.

He changed realms, appearing in the Realms of the Dead and then flew to the Gates of that world, racing past the Black God who nodded as he dashed by. Gainel's realms were beyond that, and as soon as he appeared he shouted for the god.

"Gainel!" he bellowed, standing in the mists of Dream. _"Gainel!"_

_-Owen,- _the god acknowledged, and the world melted into Torchwood Three.

"We found him," Owen gasped. "We found the Guardian, but there are these things—Coldfangs, Rikash called them Coldfangs—"

_-And now you must get him out. Where have you brought him?— _Gainel asked urgently.

"Dead space," Owen said, and the dream god hissed in horror.

_-Gods cannot step foot in the dead space! We cannot leave our borders; we can only call those outside to come in. You must get him out, Owen, or he is lost!—_

_

* * *

_

Jack scowled down at Red's neck. The horse picked his way through the forest as they traveled deeper, hopefully leading any following weevils away from the city Corus, although Jack doubted that it would be helpful.

Kit sat draped in the saddle in front of him, humming to herself as she fiddled with the receptacle, with which Numair had made remarkable progress. It didn't seem quite fixed yet, but the dragon was surprisingly intelligent, and the faster it was fixed, the fewer weevils Jack would have to kill.

"Any progress?" he muttered, and the dragon spared him a slit-pupilled glance before looking back at the small black box.

"I'll take that as a no," he muttered and then looked up.

Spots had sidled up next to Cloud, giving Daine and Numair a chance to whisper together from their horses' backs. Jack smiled a little to himself, looking at his friends with great fondness. They seemed rather involved, backs swaying in sync with each other and their horses' movements. As he watched, Numair reached over and swept one of Daine's curls behind her ear. Jack sighed.

"They're quite the pair," George said lowly. Jack glanced at Alanna's husband.

The Lioness' magnificent warhorse walked proudly on the other side of George's chestnut, powerful neck arching in a stately walk while Alanna peered over her husband's shoulder. George was watching him with keen hazel eyes, a small smile on his face.

"I feel like they belong together in a castle somewhere," Jack admitted. "Or back in that nice tower, not out here killing creatures from another world."

"You underestimate them," Alanna assured him. "Together, they won a war for us."

Jack smiled. "I believe it," he replied, glancing back at them. Daine was laughing at something Numair said, and as he looked at her Jack could see a bright, adoring gleam in his eye. "Have you heard anything from Ianto?" he asked. The goal was to change the subject, but he failed rather spectacularly; the hole Ianto had left ached quietly at the thought, although at least he did manage to keep the cheer on his face.

George shrugged. "All quiet last night. Not a peep."

Jack sighed. "I didn't hear from Owen, either."

"Do you think they could've found something?" Alanna asked, and Jack felt a touch of unease slide down his spine.

"I don't know," he muttered, turning to look out into the woods.

* * *

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	20. Chapter 19

There was a loud _crack _in the distance, and Daine winced.

Night had fallen, and she was sitting in the darkness with Kitten at her side and Numair's head in her lap. He and George had gone to sleep almost immediately, as per Jack's orders, so that they could speak with Jack's dead coworkers, while Jack and Alanna went hunting for the second time.

Feeling slightly useless and frustrated, she braided some of Numair's loose hair, which was long enough to brush past his shoulders if he ever were to let it down. Daine had undone the rough bit of leather that held it, for lack of anything better to do.

She had called the weevils for hours and received no answer, although she had nevertheless flinched when she heard Jack's gunshot. It had hurt, somewhere in the pit of her heart, and since then she feared to call for them again. Numair, as though sensing her distress, murmured quietly in his sleep, curling around her crossed knee. She smiled at him, undid the braid and stroked the curve of his ear. He sighed gently, content, and his breath warmed her knees.

Daine, Cloud's voice warned softly in her ear. And then, more alarmed, _Daine! _

She turned at her pony's insistence and met small, deep-set beady eyes. There was a weevil crouched in the brush on the edge of camp, watching her. Kitten started awake with squeak and crowded closer to her, afraid. Daine laid a hand on the dragon's back.

_Scared! _The weevil told her. It must have been young, Daine thought uneasily. It seemed smaller than the others she had seen.

But she saw its teeth, and remembered that she had to be authoritative.

"Come here," she ordered, quietly but firmly. The creature crept closer, lowing softly. Daine did not allow herself to think of her family here—her beloved Numair fast asleep and vulnerable in her lap, her young charge cowering around her knees. Instead she was the pack leader; if she was authoritative, this creature would not dare to attack her.

_Brothers dead/frightened/want to go home _

It watched her carefully as it crept closer, steps hesitant and unsure. It looked back over its shoulder and then lowed, cringing away from Daine.

Good, she told it silently, for fear of waking Numair or, worse, bringing the creature to Jack's attention. How can you get home?

_Harder/no rift/but – butbutbut—_

How do you do it? Daine demanded. Show me. Go home.

The creature lowed again and drew back. It tossed up its head and howled, like a wolf, and Daine felt a flicker of fear—Jack or Alanna might hear it! But then something happened.

The air split in two. Golden light speared from nothing, or from the very fabric of the world and reality cracked. It drew apart and Daine could see distant lights beyond the darkness that the weevil had opened. Kitten sat up, staring, jaws opening and closing, as though she wanted to say something but could not quite get the sounds out.

_Home! _the weevil said gratefully, looking back nervously at Daine.

Go, Daine ordered, shocked, and the creature wasted no time; it ducked through the crack in the world and then vanished; the crack sealed as soon as it was through.

"Oh," Daine breathed, and then she laughed, rousing Numair as Kitten squeaked back at her. "Oh, oh, _oh!_"

"Wha…?" he asked thickly, blinking at her blearily. Daine beamed at him and swooped down to kiss him, long and enthusiastic and he responded, sleepy and bemused. When she pulled away he followed, sitting up with her, murmuring in protest when she pushed him back gently.

"What was that about?" he asked, but he smiled, reaching to cup her cheek.

"Have you spoken to Tosh again?" she breathed, cuddling into his hand. Numair blinked at the non-sequitur, but he brushed her nose gently with his thumb.

"No," he said, sounding perplexed. "I—didn't dream at all, as a matter of fact. Why?"

"Because you have to speak with Tosh," Daine ordered, pushing him back into her lap. He blinked, but lay down.

"Why?"

"Because the weevils can open up dimensions!" she breathed, and Numair stared. "You have to tell her," she said, "because we can use that. _They_ can use that—I don't know how, but they can. We can use the weevils to find the Guardian!" Kitten trilled excitedly, but quieted when George stirred.

"How am I supposed to sleep with that kind of information?" Numair demanded, but his eyes glittered with excitement. Daine gently extracted herself from him, despite his muffled protests.

"I have to find Jack," she said, "I have to tell him!"

Numair sat up again, alarmed. "You can't go out into the woods alone!"

"I'll be fine," Daine said. She walked over to him, crouching close enough that Numair had to lean back down, so he rested supine on his elbow. "I'll be a possum or a bat or something. You have to tell the others!" She tucked a strand of loose hair behind his ear.

"Are you insane?" Numair demanded, catching her hand. "Wake George, he'll tell them!"

"Numair," Daine said firmly, placing her hands on his shoulders. "I'll be fine. I promise. You have to tell them."

"If you get hurt, Daine," he breathed, watching her with wide dark eyes. She leaned in and kissed him softly.

"I'm not going to get hurt." She brushed her nose against his affectionately and he sighed, closing his eyes.

"How am I supposed to sleep if I'm worried and I know all this?" he asked, nuzzling her nose.

"You've managed before," Daine giggled and then kissed his cheek, rising. Numair sighed and curled up into a small ball.

"Hurry back," he said wistfully, relenting. "And be careful, sweets."

"I always am," she assured him and then shifted her shape into that of a bat, winging off into the night.

* * *

Red snorted uneasily as he picked his way through the glade.

"You insisted on coming," Jack reminded his horse in a soft whisper. Alanna rolled her eyes.

"I don't know what Daine's done to him," she muttered, walking shoulder to shoulder with Jack. "He's completely besotted with you."

"I have that effect on people," Jack said with a charming grin. Alanna rolled her eyes again.

Red froze. He gave a very soft, high pitched squeal, ears pricked. Jack and Alanna crouched, readying their weapons. Jack glanced at his horse.

"Neigh," he ordered. Red rolled an eye at him. "You volunteered to be bait," he reminded the dappled gelding. "Neigh. Sound afraid."

Red sighed deeply, and Alanna sniggered. "He's right, you know," she told the horse.

Red gave them both a long-suffering look, and then whinnied loudly. Silence. And then—

"There!" Jack hissed and darted away. Alanna drew a bow, but she wasn't fast enough; two loud _cracks_ and the creature fell with a _thud. _

"That thing is unfair," she muttered as Jack walked off and dragged the dead weevil out of a bush. "I didn't even have time to draw my bow."

"Twentieth century craftsmanship," Jack said, patting the barrel. "It's quaint, but I like it. It's the recoil, I think; lasers aren't nearly as satisfying." He grinned nastily, but then looked down at the dead weevil and sighed. "I'd really rather not kill them, though. Daine's right; they can't help what they are. Still." He hoisted the creature up onto his shoulder and then slung it onto Red's back, despite the horse's snort of protest, "I suppose the job's the job."

"I didn't reach my station by going against the gods," Alanna agreed, but she spared the dead weevil a sympathetic glance.

"Mm. George said the Goddess Chose you?" Jack asked, scouting the area with sharp eyes. "Haven't met the Goddess yet."

Alanna gave him a one shouldered shrug. "She gave me my gemstone. Shouldn't we be being quiet?"

"Nah," Jack said, raising his voice. "They're attracted to blood and death. Fear, too, I think, but not as much. Both of us sitting here with a big horse, we make pretty good bait."

"And why did we not try that last night?"

Red snorted, clearly not appreciating the sentiment. Jack patted his neck. "Not gonna let anything happen to you, soldier," he said easily, and then caught his breath. Alanna glanced at him, but he seemed to have composed himself.

"Anyway," Jack muttered, but he didn't say anything else.

"You alright?" Alanna asked mildly, noticing his apparent slip of the tongue.

"Fine," Jack replied shortly, shaking himself. "C'mon, let's go deeper." He crashed up ahead, and Alanna sighed and followed behind the big gray gelding, watching their backs. She knew better than to push, by now. Still, she thought humorlessly to herself, these secret pains of his were getting annoying. Not that she didn't sympathize, but honestly, they couldn't help if they didn't know.

Alanna was no fool. She knew Ianto Jones was just the beginning – there was something else behind Jack's guarded eyes. Something to do with children; that Chaos thing had called him _childkiller_… a slow shudder slipped down her spine.

The bat came out of nowhere. Alanna squawked in surprise when it fluttered around her head, squeaking frantically.

"Daine?" she demanded, startled, thoughts effectively derailed.

"Alanna!" the bat squealed. "You need to tell Jack—I figured out how the weevils got here!"

Red whinnied and Jack, ahead of them, turned. "What is it?" he asked.

"Daine's followed us," Alanna said, holding out a hand so Daine could cling to her finger, upside down. Jack regarded the bat.

"You're supposed to be at camp," he admonished.

"I found out how the weevils got here!" the bat enthused. "They can go from world to world, just like I told you before, Jack."

"And I told you," Jack replied, "that that's impossible. You can't just slip dimensions!"

"Yes, but I saw it. Look, I'll show you." The bat fluttered from Alanna's hand and changed; a wolf stood in front of the Lioness and called with Daine's voice, "You there! Jack, don't shoot him."

A weevil stepped out from behind a tree, lowing and cringing even as it stepped towards the wolf.

"Go home," she ordered, baring her teeth and raising her hackles. "Go on, get out of here! _Go home!_"

The weevil twisted and shrugged reluctantly but Daine bore down on it, growling and snarling. Lowing, it backed away and then howled; Jack and Alanna gaped as Red squealed in alarm. Golden light hissed from nowhere and reality yawned into a crack, which the weevil stepped though and vanished. The wolf turned back to them triumphantly. "See?" Daine beamed, inasmuch as a wolf can beam.

"We—we don't have to kill them," Alanna whispered.

"More than that!" Daine cried, voice hoarse and wolf-like from excitement.

"You think they can help us find the Guardian," Jack breathed. Daine howled gleefully in agreement.

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Please leave a review : )

Next chapter will be posted later on tonight, never fear!


	21. Chapter 20

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Numair was trying very hard to sleep. He had his eyes closed, and he was attempting not to think, but his mind would not keep still.

_The weevils can travel worlds. _

_The weevils can travel worlds. _

_I have to tell the others. _

_I hope Daine will be safe, curse her, she's going to come back bleeding, I just know it. _

_The animals will protect her, won't they? What if Jack shoots her by accident? _

_Don't be stupid, Numair. She'll be fine. Think of something else._

_Like the weevils. _

_Which have large teeth. And Daine can barely hold them. _

_Shakith curse it. I hope she's okay. _

_Concentrate, Numair._

_The weevils can travel worlds._

_The weevils can travel worlds. _

_The weevils—_

"—can travel worlds." He blinked.

Gainel, the Dream God himself, was standing there, and there was a man next to him. He was a study of contrasts: pale skin with dark hair and eyes, clothing unmistakably leather. The man's face was wide with high cheekbones, and his curly hair cropped short.

"What did you just say?" he demanded, accent strange to Numair's ears.

"The weevils can travel worlds," Numair repeated urgently. "You must be Owen Harper."

_--Can they cross realms?—_Gainel asked immediately, not questioning the information.

"I have no idea," Numair replied, bewildered. "Has something happened?"

"You better believe it, buddy," the man that Numair thought was Owen said. "They found the Guardian."

"They found the—" Numair gaped and then, slowly, began to smile.

"Don't look so happy," the man snapped harshly. "They're stuck in the darkness; they can't get out. There's two Coldfangs after them, and the Guardian's dying."

Numair stared and then swore colorfully. "So we need the weevils. Now."

"Yes," the man sneered. "Now."

_--Tell the others,-- _Gainel ordered him, and he paled.

"I can't go back there—" he said desperately.

--_Owen Harper, you will do as you are told,-- _Gainel growled, wrapping power around himself like a cloak. _–Everything rests upon this, do you understand? Everything. You must tell the others. I need to speak to my brothers and sisters. Numair Salmalin, you must wake up.—_

Before Numair could get a word in edgewise, he felt his body start as though struck by lightning. He shot up, and George did as well, spluttering and blinking.

"The weevils," George gasped, "they travel worlds."

"I know," Numair said urgently. "Now get up! We have to find the others."

George rolled out of bed, grabbing several knives and thrusting them up his sleeves. "Can't be too prepared," he said darkly.

Numair nodded and held out one hand, palm down. Black fire gathered around it. It pulled something deep within him, like stepping with a slightly sore calf muscle, but he did not care. He could rest later—had the Nepthalae, which seemed so long ago now, really taken that much out of him? He turned his hand over.

"Daine," he said into the fire in his palm.

"Numair?" Jack's voice, echoed by Daine and Alanna.

"Daine, you have to get one of the weevils to open a crack, or whatever it is they do," he said urgently. "Rikash, Tosh and Ianto have found the Guardian, but he's dying. They can't get out of the spaces between realms, and if they don't, the Guardian will die. Come back to camp, you need—"

He was interrupted by a string of swears from the three of them; by the time both Daine and Alanna had run out, Jack was still going, speaking languages from planets that Numair was sure were beyond any of their imaginations.

"We'll be there right away," Alanna said over Jack's horrified voice.

"And I can call the weevils, too," Daine added darkly. "I can call a bunch of them. I don't know if they can get to the spaces between, but—"

"We're going to try," Jack interrupted her, firmly.

"Good. I'll see you soon." Numair closed the spell.

"Now we wait?" George asked, pacing around the dwindling fire pit.

"Now we wait," Numair growled, moving to join him.

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* * *

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Rikash spiraled lower, as close to the Guardian as he dared, and the two Coldfangs hissed and snarled.

"Bad idea, _bad _idea!" Ianto scolded when the Stormwing got too close, and he spiraled up again.

"I'm not a dog," Rikash muttered, but he sounded amused, despite the dire situation.

"Of course not," Tosh agreed with her own brand of sarcasm. "Is there _anything_ else we can do?"

The Guardian was down, lying still in the darkness, and his color, bright gray and white streaked, was fading slowly. He had become transparent, and now seemed hardly able to lift his head. The two Coldfangs paced around him in a circle, guarding him, rattling the bones on the ends of their tails.

"I don't think so," Rikash murmured regretfully. "Not unless Owen gets help."

"What I wouldn't do for a comm," Tosh muttered, referring to the communications device they had used at Torchwood.

"Think we're a bit out of range," Ianto said dryly.

"Just a bit," Tosh agreed, and there was a brief silence.

One of the Coldfangs stopped pacing and hissed, mouth opening so that its extra fangs dropped. The second stopped as well, tail rattling ominously.

"Oi!" said Owen's voice as he stood on the edges of Rikash, Ianto and Tosh's light. "I'm here by order of the dream god Gainel, I'm not here to steal your prey, so _back the fuck off._"

"Owen!" Tosh called, and Ianto squeezed her tighter.

Owen strode closer, but the nearest Coldfang hissed, snapping its jaws threateningly. He stopped short, staring into its eyes as if hypnotized.

"Numair Salmalin spoke to me," Owen said softly, but it was so quiet in the darkness that his voice carried without a problem, even over the harsh rattling of the Coldfangs' tails. Ianto heard Tosh catch her breath. "He said that they have weevils in Tortall, and they can travel worlds." The Coldfang stalked him, watching his eyes, tail hissing alarmingly.

"Owen—" Ianto warned him, trying to snap him out of whatever spell the animal had cast.

"Veralidaine Sarassri is calling them now," Owen continued in his flat monotone, eyes locked with the Coldfang. The creature weaved its head as it slowly approached and Owen swayed slightly, as if to distant music. "Then they're going to try to help you."

"That's great, now you're going to want to _move_!" Rikash snapped, and the last word came out as an eagle's scream when the Coldfang lunged. Owen snarled and leaped back.

"I'm not even alive, you moron!" he told the Immortal, although whether he was speaking to Rikash or the Coldfang was unclear. "And I'm under the fucking dream god's—fuck _off!_" he cried as the second one lunged at him. Owen disappeared angrily from the dead space, presumably going back to Dream.

"_They're coming!"_ His voice echoed, and then only the rattles of the Coldfangs remained.

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* * *

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"How can I let go of this? I bring life." The Bad Wolf blinks, and somewhere on the wrecked space station Jack Harkness gasps back to life for the first time. Somewhere else, everywhere else, he gasps back to life again —and again and again and again into infinity, all in one moment. She wants him to live, and so live he does; she can see him now, through all of time and space. So alone, like her poor Doctor.

_But this is wrong! _The Doctor cries, his voice so important that it echoes across Everything. _You can't control life and death!_

"But I can," Rose says simply, taking all of her effort to focus on him, only him, even though part of her is, was, will always be elsewhere. "The sun and the moon. The day and the night. But why do they hurt?"

And they do, they hurt, a thin, wailing note of discord winds through them all: the Doctor's loneliness eclipsed by her friend's, and she never meant to hurt Jack.

_The power's gonna kill you and it's my fault, _the Doctor mourns, and his pain is so intense, so wrong, that she is helpless to think of anything else.

Yet everything else pounds into her head, so much information. Suns and moons and one universe, two universes, a beach called Darlig ulv Strandon and _The Big Bad Wolf, _Jack Harkness sitting on a rooftop wishing that jumping would kill him—

She didn't mean to hurt him.

"I can see everything. All that is. All that was. All that ever could be—"

_But that's what I see. All the time. And doesn't it drive you mad?_

She loves him. God, god, she loved this man, this Time Lord, who had destroyed his world for the sake of the universe.

"My head… is killing me…"

The Bad Wolf is not invincible, and as her own power destroys her mortal form, spiraling out of control, anchoring her back to liner Time, she suddenly understands why the universe hurts, and why Jack does, too.

She reaches, once, and the Doctor kisses her, pulling the Time Vortex out of Rose Tyler's body. Father Universe wails and Queen Uusoae shrills with laughter when Rose forces her way into a distant pocket universe; she can do nothing for the Doctor and she mourns, grieves and rages inside, but Jack will get a gift, just one, just the one, to ease the hurt—

With that last effort, she collapses into her Doctor's arms, all thoughts of her lost friend wiped from her mind. The Time Lord releases the energy that the human girl had absorbed, and staggers with her back to his time ship, abandoning Jack Harkness, newly immortal, centuries younger, on an empty space station called Satellite Five.

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Please leave a review! Remember, Torchwood category in chapter 21, which will be posted in two weeks :)


	22. Chapter 21

RIGHT, OKAY! Since this is uber late and I'm posting next chapter up ASAP, review replies will be posted there, since then I can get this one up faster. I've been doing a bit of editing, as Paraxenos poked me concerned about Ianto's character – she was right, he was a bit off. Thus, editing happens. Don't worry, nothing about the plot has changed, just a bit of dialogue. Just letting you people know.

Also: I've done a ton of work on this chapter, because it's given me issues from the beginning, but if anyone sees anything that feels iffy and off, or doesn't make sense please tell me. I like it much better now, but there could have been something I missed.

ANYWAY, the long awaited chapter 21…

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Three weevils followed Daine to the camp, but it was slow. Alanna held her sword protectively as she walked and Jack had ridden Red, his revolver trained on the largest weevil. Still wolf shaped, Daine snarled and threatened and postured and cajoled them the entire way. She looked exhausted by the time they reached camp. Numair, George and Kitten rushed to meet the other part of the group, but Alanna shook her head at her husband and friend. Best if they didn't distract Daine.

"Now you're gonna open the gates," Daine told the cowering creatures through bared teeth, her old Snowsdale accent peeking from her carefully learned cultured tones.

Numair rushed over to give her a cloak. Daine changed back into her human self, just as Cloud pushed her way through and leaned onto the wildmage's back. Daine stood up straighter, taking the power offered from the pony. Kitten shrilled in alarm but Numair scooped her up, holding the dragon to his chest and quieting her. "Hush," he whispered, but she squirmed in protest.

"Do it!" Daine growled, and the three weevils howled, long and loud. Jack was sitting anxiously on Red, bareback, with his revolver in his hand, prepared to shoot the creatures should they decide to go rogue and to use his horse's bulk as an advantage. Alanna stood tensely next to Red, sword ready. Darkmoon picked his way over, flattening his ears to express his displeasure. She thought about mounting her horse, like Jack, but decided against it.

Daine gave a second order to the weevils and Alanna narrowed her eyes. Their reluctance to obey was clear, and she feared that they would break free. She glanced to Numair, who was holding his hands in fists and biting his lip. He looked just as afraid, if not moreso. Alanna shared a look with George and then let out a breath, relieved but more amazed, when golden light spilled in front of the weevils. The world opened, light blazing from darkness.

"Jack."

The voice was male and firm. There was a transparent man who must have been Owen Harper, who Daine said visited Jack in his dreams, standing next to the weevils. They moaned in fear, shying away from him; he curled his lip contemptuously at them before turning back to Jack.

"Two Coldfangs," he warned urgently. "They're these lizard creatures—"

"We know," Alanna interrupted and he looked at her for a long moment, up and down, scowling. Her first impression of him was instant and vehement dislike, but she held her tongue. There were more important things at stake here.

"Right," he said. "I don't know how—"

The golden crack widened, and from between the gold edges tendrils of darkness bloomed like a flower.

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* * *

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Rikash circled the Guardian slowly, like a vulture on a heat thermal. The Guardian was fading beneath him, and while it was not in the nature of a Stormwing to feel fear, anxiety was starting to seep in from his wingtips.

The Coldfangs hissed and rattled from below, and Rikash tightened his claws in Ianto's shoulders. He knew there was no bone to crack, but he felt it shift all the same. "This was a terrible idea," the Stormwing muttered.

"There must be something we can do," Tosh said fiercely, and Rikash resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Humans and their hope.

"We can't kill them, being dead ourselves," Ianto drawled, "We can't really distract them, or stun them. We don't know the Guardian's name, and we don't know how to stop him from dying. We don't—"

"Well, you're just a bundle of laughs, aren't you?" Rikash cut him off irritably. Tosh's hope was annoying, but Ianto certainly wasn't helping either.

"Owen said the others were coming," Ianto told him, looking up. Rikash looked down at his friend, clutching Tosh around the waist. He looked very small, and Rikash resisted the urge to tighten his claws again. Humans, even dead ones, were so fragile. "We can't do anything now, but they'll come. And when they come," he continued firmly, "I am going to expect a bungee cable tied to his horn," here he gestured down to the Guardian, "and we are going to tow him out."

Silence descended. Rikash sighed flapped his wings harder, trying to use the sound of the feathers to drown out the sound of the Coldfangs. The Guardian continued to fade.

Ianto's plans were all well and good, but Stormwings had little use for hope.

And then golden light, bright and blinding, split through the darkness. Rikash would have called them laser beams, if he knew what a laser beam was, but he didn't. One strip of light tore up and the other tore down, opening a crack in the world. Light blazed through and Rikash banked, suddenly terrified, because light like that should not have dark edges.

Rikash was a Stormwing, so he knew Chaos. There was something between the light and the darkness, something unexpected, and his Immortal eyes could see it clearly.

"That had better be your Jack Harkness," Rikash said, keeping the fear out of his voice. "Because if it's not—"

And then a voice he knew interrupted him, and he was stunned into silence. _"Rikash?"_

"Longshanks!" he blurted, recognizing Numair Salmalin with poorly-concealed shock.

They'd done it. The land of the living, on the other side of Chaos.

Wasn't that typical, he thought scornfully. "Is Daine there?"

_"She's a bit busy!"_ replied Numair, but he was clearly grinning.

_"This isn't time for pleasantries, boys and girls!"_ called another voice, and Rikash heard Ianto catch his nonexistent breath. Ah, he thought dryly. Lover boy, then. _"Can you get the Guardian out?"_

Rikash looked down and saw the dopy grin that lit his friend's face as Ianto answered, "Not without alerting the Coldfangs, sir."

The Stormwing suppressed a snort of amusement. Honestly. Ianto Jones was far more sensible than most humans, but this was patently ridiculous. But he must be going soft, because his friend's joy made him want to puke less than usual. Damn humans.

"We can take care of those!" came the reply, just as gleeful. Rikash rolled his eyes where no one could see him. He already knew Harkness was going to be the biggest pain in the backside since Ozorne Muhassin Tasikh had turned into a Stormwing and turned into Rikash's personal problem. "We have two mages, a thief, and I have my revolver. Don't worry about it, Ianto Jones!"

They were going to be unbearable. Did this beloved of Ianto's not _think_? "You'll want to watch the thief, Harkness—" Rikash started to tell him, but then Tosh caught her breath and he cut himself off, looking down sharply.

"Ianto—" she said, and Rikash followed her eyes. Ianto caught his breath, and Rikash suppressed a curse. The golden light had turned bronze, as the Thing between the worlds solidified and reached. It looked like nothing, it looked like everything, and Rikash knew Chaos for what it was. It reached once with an awful, dripping tentacle.

"_Rikash, up!_" Ianto cried in horror, and Rikash was only too happy to oblige. The Thing hissed and coiled like a snake, crooning to itself horribly as it sat between worlds.

**_He shan't get out.  
Oh, I got out,  
And out I'll stay.  
Let him die,  
Let him perish--  
He shan't get out._**

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Kitten stared at the darkness as it oozed out of the crack and gave a shriek, twisting in Numair's grasp. "Shh, Kit, stop!" he hissed and then yelped when silver teeth closed on his arm. He dropped the dragon who raced off to the packs, presumably to hide. Alanna made to follow, but Numair shook his head; best to be here. If Kitten wanted to hide, she could.

"_That had better be your Jack Harkness, you two, because if it's not—" _The voice was whispery and coming from within the widening fissure, although there was no one to be seen. Numair recognized it at once, as did Daine.

"Rikash?" Numair called incredulously, and from the yawning, terrifying darkness there was a response, far more delighted than Numair had expected.

"_Longshanks! Is Daine there?" _

"She's a bit busy!" Numair replied, unable to hold back a grin. He wanted to hug Daine and spin her about, he wanted call Kitten over, but he held himself still. This had to work. They could celebrate later.

"This isn't time for pleasantries, boys and girls!" Jack shouted, sitting up straighter on Red's back. "Can you get the Guardian out?"

"_Not without alerting the Coldfangs, sir," _said another voice, a strange accent with soft rounded vowels, and even Daine must have heard Jack's breath catch.

"We can take care of those," Jack replied, and his voice cracked. Numair's foolish grin widened at the look on his friend's face. "We have two mages, a thief," and here Jack winked at George, "and I have my revolver. Don't worry about it, Ianto Jones!" His voice strengthened joyfully over the dead man's name.

"_You'll want to watch the thief, Harkness," _Rikash's voice started, but he was interrupted.

"_Ianto…" _a woman's voice this time, heavy with warning and then, frantic, Ianto's voice again.

"_RIKASH, UP!" _

Something dark and awful curled in the darkness between worlds, and it glistened unpleasantly in Numair's magical vision. He took an involuntary step back, horrified. Jack hissed as Red threw up his head, huffing and white-eyed.

Owen, standing beside Jack, swore. "Screw it! You have to come through! The mages can call out the Guardian—_get out here!_"

The people on the other side ignored Owen's warning, much to Jack's obvious distress, and Ianto's distinctive voice rang out, loud and clear. _"GUARDIAN OF THE GATES! GUARDIAN!"_

"_That's not going to work, you idiot, we don't know his name!" _This was Rikash, sounding breathless and terrified.

"You heard Owen, get out!" Jack called urgently, gripping his panicking horse's mane. Owen strode to the crack, flinching away from the darkness that curled like smoke from the mouth of the crevasse. He cursed quietly.

"Can they follow the Coldfangs out?" George demanded suddenly, striding forward, "'Cos I'd make a fair piece of bait for them." He walked up to the fissure.

"_Don't--!_" Owen lunged and made to grab George, but too late. The darkness, like a living thing, snaked out and snapped at him, curling like the arm of an octopus. George had quick reflexes; he leaped back at Alanna's cry of alarm and the arm grasped at nothing.

"Trickster's teeth," George breathed, expressing Numair's thoughts perfectly. "What the—"

"It's a Chaos thing," Owen said hurriedly. "It's a Chaos thing, and it's blocking their way out—"

_Chaos. _Now that they had a name for it, Numair's mind immediately began whirling, remembering Daine's stories and his own experience, remembering books he'd read, accounts and magic—how did one fight a Chaos thing?

The answer was unfortunate. One didn't.

"_Numair! Numair Salmalin!" _The woman's voice rung out from behind the crack, even as darkness poured out of it. The hissing, foggy nothingness landed like a solid thing on the ground, curling like mist, shape growing, changing, reaching up._ "Do you still have that storage receptacle?"_

He knew that voice.

"Yes, but I couldn't fix it!" Numair called back to Tosh. "It won't—it won't provide life support!" He paused for a moment and then thought to distract the thing, maybe pull it through, so they could get the Guardian out. He called up his Gift, and hissed one of the nastiest curses he knew over Jack's shout of protest.

Numair gasped in shock and pain as the darkness grabbed his Gift and _pulled. _He staggered forward as the thing drew his magic like blood from a wound and fear, real, honest fear suddenly wrenched at him. It was the Nepthalae all over again, only this time it was forced; something was pulling his life out of him and he couldn't breathe. His whole world narrowed as he fought and struggled and _lost_.

Suddenly something purple grasped him and pulled back; Alanna had yanked his shoulder, preventing him from falling face first into the weevil's fissure and the dark thing twining below it. Nausea clawed at his throat and he swayed. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes. Numair gasped and staggered away, staring at the thing in horror.

He'd never experienced anything like that, not ever. It was sick, wrong, more wrong than the Skinners or that thing in the woods, more wrong than his awful memories of distant Carthak. He wanted Daine and he wanted to hide. Most importantly, he wanted to throw up, but someone was speaking.

That would be rude, he thought woozily, to throw up in the middle of a speech.

"Who _cares_?" Owen was shouting. "Get it, get rid of this thing!" he leaped back as the thing rose again, stretching up tall and slender. Numair wondered where the dead man got his energy.

The mage swayed, and the thing in the dark that had stolen his power spoke in a voice that tore broken fingernails down his spine.

**"The mortal realms!"** it muttered, voice purring and somehow feminine. The weevils keeping the Gate open wailed in fear, trying to flee; Daine would not let them, although her eyes darted frightfully to the thing and then to Numair. He tried to smile at her, to reassure his frightened magelet, but that thing spoke again and he wanted to vomit. **"Oh, how _fondly _I remember it here—"**

Kitten, behind them, squealed.

**"Little dragon—"** the darkness hissed, changing shape and form, eyes and nose and ears and mouth of every creature, oozing, horrible. Queen Uusoae reached out a tendril to the dragon, and over Jack's shout of warning, Numair's panicked, horrified yell, George's thrown knife and Alanna's war cry, Kitten howled triumphantly, because there was the little box from the Nepthalae ship in her hands, small and black and fixed. She turned a knob, and blue light shone from the end. It brightened and brightened and the limb that had reached for the dragon recoiled as the Queen of Chaos shrieked in fury, trying to run and failing.

The light went out, and the creature was gone. Numair's power returned with enough speed to wind him. He choked, staggering.

"_Good! NOW, RIKASH!" _Ianto's voice rang from behind the crack and there was a sound like dry leaves crackling—a Coldfang's rattle—and the snap of heavy jaws.

Something gray and blurred shot out from the crack, trailing something orange, spiraling up into the pre-dawn sky, shortly followed by something huge.

The beast lumbered out of the fissure, the orange rope tied to one of the huge ram's horns that curled from behind its ears. It brayed like a goat, stumbling and blinking into the light, and gave an angry growl as Rikash Moonsword dropped the other end of the strange orange cable onto its head.

And then, before the Tortallans could move back to accommodate, the Coldfangs lunged, leaping from the crack with their mouths agape.

Kitten shrilled harshly, but two loud _cracks_ from Jack's revolver did the trick; both fell, dead, half in and half out of the fissure.

"Daine, close it!" Rikash called from above.

"You heard him!" Daine shouted at the weevils, "Close it, and go home! Get out of here, go!"

Three voices lowed and bayed up into the sky and the crack sealed itself closed, only to open again around them; blinking lights and some kind of horn sounded from the other side, before the weevils were gone. Daine, gasping with exhaustion, keeled to one side, leaning on a trembling Cloud. Alanna caught her before she could slide down the pony's side.

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Next chapter on the way!! Review replies, too. Sorry for the lateness!


	23. Chapter 22

"There you go, good girl. Don't fall down, now," Alanna said, hoisting Daine up.

"Daine!" Numair lunged over, stumbling with his own weakness. He seemed disoriented, but he reached Daine and her pony. The wildmage smiled at him as he took her carefully in his arms, murmuring quietly in her ear.

Alanna glanced at them with concern, afraid that Numair would topple over with Daine's extra weight. The mage looked a wreck and Daine looked worse, but someone had to deal with their new visitors. She glanced uneasily to George, and her husband spared her a nod and a small smile. "Guardian," he said, turning to the great creature.

The Guardian of the Gates rose to its full height, over three times Alanna's size. It was man-shaped with ram's horns and matted fur. The massive tail lashed and the gray fur bristled, and as the creature stood straight it became apparent that he was very clearly male. He reached up to one of the great, curling horns and untied the strange orange rope, staring at it briefly, perplexed. And then he bleated like a goat, looking up to the air. The Stormwing Rikash hovered slightly above the tree line, looking down at them. He was gripping a man by the shoulder that Alanna recognized as Ianto Jones, who held a woman that Alanna did not know, but guessed was Toshiko Sato.

"Rikash!" Daine called weakly but delightedly, curled in the protective circle of Numair's arms.

Jack remained on Red's back, silent, eyes locked on the man Rikash was holding. Ianto stared back and as Alanna watched, Jack's face lit in a very slow smile that looked more genuine than any expression Alanna had seen on the man's face previously.

"Good to see you, Daine," Rikash said, grinning back. Ianto Jones, clutched in his claws, tore his eyes from Jack and looked up.

"I should like to feel the ground, I think. It's been a rather long time," he drawled in a long-suffering sort of voice. Jack let out a bark of laughter, and the woman Ianto held around the waist laughed as well. Owen Harper, standing next to the place where the crack in the world had been, grinned up at them delightedly, although he tried and failed to hide it.

The Guardian of the Gates brayed at them, and the three in the air looked down at him.

"You're free now," Ianto told the creature awkwardly after a moment of silence.

"Thanks ever so, Ianto, I'm sure he never would've known that otherwise," Rikash quipped.

The Guardian cocked his head at them and turned to the Tortallans. He bleated at them.

"I can't understand you," Daine said apologetically, resting against Numair, who had started to sway alarmingly. The massive creature stomped a clawed foot, digging into the ground.

"Now what?" the woman Alanna thought was Toshiko asked.

"Rikash puts us down," Ianto said firmly, "And introductions are in order, I think."

"—I should probably go get Gainel." Owen put in and Toshiko beamed down at him.

"That would probably be helpful, yes," Jack said, finally shaking himself out of his daze. He slipped from Red's back and crouched down next to Kitten as Owen nodded to himself and disappeared. The dappled gelding watched Jack as he moved. Darkmoon butted at Alanna's shoulder suddenly and she smiled, turning to pat her stallion's cheek.

The Guardian was looking long and hard at where Owen had been standing. George watched him warily. Alanna went to stand beside her husband but stopped in her tracks when she saw Numair sway again. She reached over and put her hand on his shoulder.

"No more power," he muttered. "Don't give me any; I'm fine. Disoriented. Really. Fine."

"Numair," Daine murmured with concern, reaching up with a hand that shook to cup his cheek. He smiled tenderly down at her and squeezed her.

"Really," he insisted.

"How did you fix that?" Jack asked Kit suddenly, carefully lifting the receptacle from the dragon. Alanna turned. The small black box smoked gently, now that it had an occupant.

"That was me," Toshiko called cheerfully from where Ianto was holding her, startling the Guardian. The great creature jumped and Alanna and George jumped with him, still on edge. But when the Guardian turned his eyes upwards he relaxed, and Alanna did too. "And Numair, of course, right, Numair?" Toshiko grinned down at the mage.

"The most informative dream I've ever had," the mage replied with a wobbly smile up at her. Kitten squawked indignantly. "Of course, Kit did the quick thinking," Numair added indulgently. The dragon preened a little.

Alanna chuckled at her and then looked up to the three in the air. "You saved our lives, all of you. Thank you."

"Yes, you're welcome," Rikash muttered sullenly, but Ianto rolled his eyes.

"I think you did a decent job of getting us out of there, so let's call it even. Are you ever going to put us down, or am I going to grow old up here?" The last was directed to Rikash, who growled, but descended.

"You can't grow old, you idiot, you're dead," he muttered.

"Oh, I think we fixed that problem," Jack put in, grinning. He rose from his crouch and strolled past the Guardian, who flinched from him. Jack didn't seem to notice, but Alana certainly did. Rikash flapped his wings frantically, dropping Ianto and Tosh when Tosh's toes touched the ground. The two fell into a protesting heap.

"_Ground!_" the Stormwing said with obvious relish, drifting gently down and landing with claws extended while Daine and Numair grinned at him. "I never thought I'd miss solid, obvious—"

"Please get out of the way," Tosh said sharply, picking herself and Ianto up off the ground. Rikash stared at her and Jack whooped with bright, joyous laughter and broke into a run; he dodged around the Stormwing and made to sweep Ianto and then Tosh up into his arms in a display of such glee that Alanna was surprised. She wasn't used to her quiet friend being this loud. Was that the sort of man Jack had been, once upon a time?

Ianto gave a yelp, and Jack's startled, dismayed sound followed soon after.

"We're insubstantial," Tosh articulated miserably, and Alanna wanted to rage on behalf of her hurting friend. George laid a hand on her shoulder, correctly reading her expression.

"Of course we're insubstantial," Ianto said bitterly, sharing a longing glance with Jack.

"Yeah, I thought that might happen," Owen muttered, appearing once more and walking up to them. Tosh glared at him.

"I thought you were going to get Gainel," Alanna growled, walking up to the little group. While she often tried not to judge, her immediate dislike for Owen Harper was not exactly something she could control. George stood silent and supportive at her back. "Well?"

"I'll have you know, _Lioness,_" Owen huffed and Alanna felt George tense behind her, clearly not liking the other man's tone, "That the Great Gods are having some sort of meeting—"

The Guardian suddenly brayed with what sounded like joy, interrupting Owen. They all turned, and a woman, hooded and cloaked but still clearly feminine was standing between them and next to the Guardian. Alanna recognized her instantly and dropped to one knee.

"—Which exists in a different plain of existence than this one, so we may be in two places at once, Owen Harper. Hello, Guardian of the Gates. It is quite an honor." The Guardian bowed, bleating.

"Goddess!" Alanna breathed. The Tortallans and Owen followed her example, but from the corner of her eye Alanna saw Jack remained standing stubbornly. Ianto glanced at him and then walked to stand on his other side. Tosh, glancing from Ianto to Owen, gave a little curtsy and then stood next to Jack. Rikash launched himself onto a tree branch above and then perched there, watching with interest and Kitten stood quietly next to Daine.

"Greetings, my daughter," the Mother Goddess said warmly to Alanna, ignoring the remainders of the Torchwood team, and then inclined her head to Daine. "Your parents send their best, Godborn, but as it is neither midsummer, midwinter, nor the equinoxes, they cannot come."

"Thank you," Daine replied, looking the Goddess in the eye as few mortals dared. It was not often that Alanna was reminded that her friend was a Godborn, but sometimes it was patently obvious. There was no fear in her tone, as though gods were no more powerful than a mage. Alanna swallowed. "Send them my love."

"I will. Now, my brother is most cross with you, Jack Harkness, as are my parents." She looked Jack up and down, and then her eyes slid to Ianto and Tosh, before her head twisted around to view Rikash. "You did not do as they asked."

"I got rid of the weevils and found the Guardian. That sounds like what they wanted me to do," Jack growled. "Actually, _they_ found the Guardian, so I think you should thank them nicely. How do corporal bodies sound?"

"_Jack!_" Alanna hissed with horror, turning to stare at him.

"Your impertinence is not appreciated, Lone Wolf," the Mother Goddess replied harshly, and somehow there was a note of baying hunting dogs in her voice. "You did not kill those aliens that dared set foot in these realms, and you used them to tear holes in the Universe—this Universe and the next. The consequences were dire; my Father sickens, and Chaos threatens."

"With all due respect," Numair broke in quietly, although he paled at the suggestion that Father Universe, creator of the Great Gods, might be ill. "We have caught Chaos, or at least a part of her, Goddess." He offered the receptacle. Alanna regarded him critically. He was no longer trembling. It seemed that the presence of the Goddess had restored him, somehow. This was less surprising than it should have been.

"What is this?" the Mother asked quietly, striding towards the mage and reaching for the small black box. She hissed and pulled back, whirling on Jack. "It is alien! This is alien craftsmanship, in the hands of one of our mortals!"

"Scavenged from the ship that you destroyed," Jack spat, blue eyes flaming. Fear shot through Alanna – nobody talked to gods like that and survived. Jack must be mad.

Well, she thought with humor to herself. She supposed he could join the club.

"It just saved our lives—all of us, I think," Jack continued and looked around to Daine and Numair and George, meeting Alanna's horrified eyes for a moment before moving on to Owen, Toshiko, Ianto and Rikash, sitting silently in his tree. "Even the Guardian. It's a storage receptacle. We repaired it and used it to imprison your queen of Chaos."

The Goddess looked at him for a moment before turning back to Numair. "I should like to see that, mage," she said, and while her voice was kind there was a note of steel in it. Numair handed her the receptacle.

She frowned and tapped the side of it. "… I see," she murmured. "I can feel my sister; however I do not know how you trapped her."

"With—with all due respect," Tosh said quietly, and all eyes turned to her. "I can show you, if you want."

The Goddess eyed her haughtily. "Perhaps. However, you upset the balance here." Her eyes turned back to Jack. "Necromancy disrupts our world, and the holes that you have drilled make our Father ill. I have half a mind to send you away, Jack Harkness! And many of my siblings would not protest!"

"Goddess, please," Alanna entreated, but the Goddess held up a hand. The Guardian, however, interrupted. He brayed loudly, tossing his horned head and lashing his long, thin tail.

"We did you all a favor," Ianto broke in quietly. "And if I know my mythology, I think that this means that we get a favor in return."

"We bargained for life, Goddess," Rikash added harshly from his perch. "A second chance. Harkness may have displeased you, but _we _did not."

"Your bargain is with Gainel and the Dark God, not with me," the Goddess said offhandedly, but her eyes locked with the Guardian's. "Although my elder pleads your case. Perhaps, perhaps. I have been sent here to punish you, Jack Harkness, however the Guardian of the Gates does not wish it so, for the sake of his rescuers. I believe that we may need to call a council once more. How does that sound to you, Uncle?"

The Guardian brayed and snorted, and the Goddess nodded. "Very well."

The world faded to black.

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	24. Chapter 23

Rikash's moan of dismay was audible.

"I'm not going back here!" Jack's friend Owen shouted, and his voice broke in obvious fear. "I made a bargain! I'm supposed to go to the Realms of the Dead!" He strode forward in the darkness, looking around defiantly. Daine, who had a fair idea of what was going on, rested a hand on Numair's arm. He glanced down at her anxiously, but relaxed a little when she smiled. Her strength was slowly coming back; here, in this court, exhaustion was not something that lasted. She looked behind her shoulder and caught Jack's eye. The immortal man was standing stiffly beside his Ianto, but when he saw Daine nod he relaxed as well.

_-Yes, you did, little spitfire. Relax. You are safe,— _Gainel's voice whispered to Owen, and the darkness rippled. The insubstantial man subsided.

"Trickster's teeth," George breathed, gripping Alanna tightly to him.

"Might wanna watch the swearwords, sweetheart!" crowed a voice, and George swallowed. Kyprioth, the Trickster god, winked from where he was leaning on a column.

As light washed through, Daine could see that they were standing in a great courtyard, floored with pale marble. The sky above was split in two; one half was a dark, cloudless night spattered with stars and the other was daylight, high noon. Spread around in a loose circle, sitting on thrones or lips of fountains or leaning on columns, was every god in the expansive Tortallan pantheon. It was a familiar sight to Daine's eyes. She sighed, slipped out of Numair's arms and stepped forward to address the assembly. Numair made a small, frightened noise in the back of his throat.

"I was under the impression that I was not allowed back here," she said to the assembly as a whole. There was a scuffle in the back and a woman with heavy, curled golden hair pushed her way towards them, followed by a horned man in a loincloth. Daine could not help the delighted smile that lit her face.

"Special circumstance, sweetling," said her mother, rushing forward. Jack stiffened again, stepping away from his Ianto with a backward glance and striding to stand in front of Daine protectively. Ianto followed to stand at his side and Daine's Ma stopped short, looking at Jack with a frown. Weiryn strode with her and, just as tall as Jack, he locked eyes with the immortal man.

"I take it we have you to thank for getting our daughter in trouble," he growled and Jack glared.

"It's alright, Jack," Daine murmured, walking over and laying a hand on her friend's arm. Those blue eyes swung to her quizzically. "These are my parents."

"Godborn," Daine heard Ianto muttered quietly, his voice dry. "Right." Jack glanced from Daine to her father and stood up straighter before meeting the horned man dead in the eye.

"She followed of her own free will," Jack growled. Kitten trilled in agreement, trotting up to stand at Jack's knee. Daine saw Ianto jump a little at the sight of the dragon out of the corner of her eye.

"It isn't Jack's fault!" she told Weiryn to defend her friend. Numair came over and rested a hand supportively on her shoulder.

"We were only trying to help," he said quietly.

"You should know better, mage," the horned man scolded Numair, although his eyes did not leave Jack's challenging gaze.

"My lord Weiryn—" Numair began sheepishly, but he was interrupted.

"_**SILENCE!**_" Mithros, God of Sun and Shield, rose from his golden throne. The little cluster of mortals, dead and alive, flinched. Rikash shifted his weight uneasily at the tone, but Jack hardly batted an eye. Kitten shrilled in protest, only silenced when Numair scooped her up and held her muzzle closed. Daine's parents stepped back to look at their lord.

"This is not their concern." Mithros' voice was stern. "Return to your places, Green Lady and Weiryn. Your daughter will not be harmed. In fact, I would send her back immediately; this hardly concerns her."

"It does concern me," Daine replied hotly over Numair's warning hiss and Jack's frantic denial. "_Whatever_ happens to my friends concerns me; with all due respect, highness, I'm staying. We're all staying!"

"Are you _insane_?" Numair muttered, hefting Kitten in one arm and pulling Daine close with the other protectively. She spared him a fierce look, but the arm around her shoulders was welcome. Speaking to a counsel of the Great Gods was not necessarily her favorite thing, but at least she had the benefit of experience.

"Well, it runs in my family," Alanna shrugged and then stuck out her chin, walking forward. "I stand by my friends," she proclaimed loudly and George, rolling his eyes in exasperation, stood up taller.

"And I by my wife, however mad she may be," he said, and the Trickster God in the corner cackled madly.

Jack gave them all a pained look. "Don't," he warned urgently. "It'll get you killed, or worse—I don't want you to go against your gods—"

"I think we've all said our piece, Jack," Alanna told him quietly, her violet eyes intense and loyal. "We're with you." Kitten chattered in agreement, although Numair quickly silenced her.

"That may prove foolish," Mithros boomed, now rising to approach Jack. "You have directly disobeyed my orders—"

"He is the beloved of one of my saviors," the Guardian put in mildly, and the humans all turned to stare at him.

The Guardian of the Gates had not disappeared; he stood a little apart from the small cluster of mortals, Rikash, Kitten and Jack, holding the orange rope in his hands. Daine had not seen him watching them, but now as he fixed his strange goat's eyes on all of them, she realized that he had been there for the whole time.

"I was under the impression that you only spoke goat," Ianto told him dryly from where he was standing beside Jack. The Guardian nickered a little.

"Here, in this court, we speak together," he explained gently and turned back to Mithros. Daine had a sudden flash of hope; the Guardian of the Gates was surely beyond gods, wasn't he? He was on the same level as Father Universe and Mother Flame. If anyone could help them, it was him.

"Uncle, our Father has worsened—" Mithros began.

"I will tend my brother," the Guardian declared, massive head held high. "But I do believe there was a bargain with these." Here he indicated the dead mortals. A god in a dark cowl rose from a shadowy seat and approached Owen.

"Indeed, you are right, Uncle. Owen Harper," the Black God whispered the name quietly, and Owen looked up at him without fear. "You bargained for free access into my realms. You have served the Dream God well. Will you rest in peace?"

Owen shot a glance to the woman who must have been Toshiko and then took a breath. "Yes," he said with more respect than Daine had expected, given how he had spoken to Gainel earlier. "I will rest. Sorry," he added quietly to Toshiko for some reason, but she nodded. The Black God raised his hand and Owen began to fade.

"Nice dreaming of you," Jack told him wistfully and Daine's heart gave a pang for her immortal friend. "Sleep well, Owen."

"Not getting rid of me that easily, Harkness," Owen replied, although he was already mostly transparent. "I plan on haunting you; how does that sound?" He vanished.

"Sounds good," Jack whispered, voice heavy with grief. Toshiko wiped a tear from her eye and Ianto made an aborted attempt to grip her arm. Numair rubbed small circles with his thumb on Daine's shoulder. Neither had known Owen, but they had known Jack, and their friend's obvious sorrow was also pain for them both.

"Thank you," Alanna added to the empty space where Owen had been standing.

"For everything," Daine amended. They owed Owen quite a lot, after all.

"Ianto Jones and Rikash Moonsword," The Dark God continued, turning towards them. Daine saw Jack stand up straighter protectively, even though he could not touch Ianto. "You, too, made a bargain, although you are out of my jurisdiction. My daughter?" He turned, and Daine saw the Graveyard Hag stand and stride towards the front of the assembly.

"You," Ianto growled and to Daine's surprise the other man sidestepped so that he stood in front of Jack protectively. Clearly Ianto remembered that the Hag had once tried to use him against the other man.

"Me," she smirked, and smiled unpleasantly as she limped over. "I don't know, Father," she added to the Dark God, eyes still fixed on the two uneasy men. "To bring Ianto Jones back to life would please Harkness greatly. And surely, my punishment includes suspension from some of my powers?"

"You still owe me favors," Jack snapped.

"You did not complete your bargain," Mynoss, the Judgment God, put in.

"But he did!" Daine exclaimed indignantly. Numair's hand tightened uneasily on her shoulder at her impertinence.

"Daine, stay out of it—" Jack hissed.

"He found—"Alanna started, but the Guardian of the Gates interrupted fiercely. Wielding his spear, he advanced on the Hag.

"This is not about Jack Harkness," he growled. "This is about these people here, and they freed me. Bring them to life, Hag."

"That," the Hag pointed indignantly to a scowling Rikash as though he were something particularly nasty that had turned up on her doorstep, "is not my jurisdiction. Dead Immortals have no gods."

"Then tie him to the mortal," the Guardian snapped. Ianto and Rikash shared a bemused look, and then as one turned to the Guardian. Daine sent a quizzical look at Numair, but her mage's eyes had gone wide, staring incredulously at the Hag. Clearly, he knew what was happening, although Daine did not have the slightest clue. She glanced over at Alanna and George, but they looked equally perplexed. Jack just looked alarmed, although he also clearly did not know what was happening.

"I think that's my Uncle's jurisdiction," the Hag said mildly, and the Guardian of the Gates snorted like an irate bull.

"Shakith, All Seer—" the Guardian boomed, and his voice brooked no argument.

A thin, wiry man stood from his throne, eyes filmed with cataracts. "As you wish, Uncle, Brother of Father Universe. Rikash Moonsword and Ianto Jones—live so long as the other shall live. I tie you together." He raised his hand and waved it carelessly. "My Uncle wishes it so. Niece," here he turned to the Hag. "I suggest you do what he asks. It is not often that we see our Uncle, and you are under punishment for bringing Ianto Jones to life in the first place; only fitting that you should finish the job."

The Hag set her teeth and marched over to grasp Ianto's arm, although she looked at the Stormwing. Ianto made to flinch back, protests on his lips, but the old woman was far faster than he seemed to expect. Her hand closed like a vise around his bicep; it seemed that, although insubstantial to the living, such things did not matter to gods. Jack growled lowly, warningly.

"I want flowers on my alter," she snarled at the Stormwing and then turned to Ianto. "You too, handsome. You can spend the rest of your mortal life begging my forgiveness."

White light bloomed and Rikash cried out while Ianto stumbled back as the goddess released him. Jack gave a small, alarmed sound and made to catch his lover's elbow by instinct. He connected; Ianto staggered into him, and Jack's hands shifted, holding Ianto up by the armpits as the other man lost his balance. Jack knelt, Ianto's back to his front, and they stared at each other.

"Hi," Jack whispered down at him.

"Hello," Ianto breathed, looking up.

They both froze, motionless for a moment. Ianto's eyes were shining up at Jack, and even Daine could see the disbelief and the sudden, fierce hope that curled Jack's lips into a breathless smile.

"Very good!" boomed the Guardian. Rikash, standing on his own, picked himself up from the ground and shook his head as though to clear it. The bones braided in his matted blond hair clicked and clacked and Daine felt herself starting to grin. But then she looked over and saw Toshiko, still insubstantial, standing to the side with a faint smile for her friends, but unease in her eyes.

She had not been brought back to life or sent to death.

"And what of Toshiko?" Daine asked, waking forward and reluctantly breaking Jack and Ianto's moment. Jack helped him up and Ianto righted himself with all the dignity he could muster.

"She has no bargain," Mynoss replied offhandedly and Daine spluttered indignantly at his carelessness.

"_What?_" Jack, Ianto and Rikash chorused. Toshiko stared at the god wide-eyed, apparently speechless.

"She trapped your Chaos Queen!" Jack snarled, jerking away from Ianto in order to defend a friend who was obviously dearly loved. "She fixed the mechanism, she—"

"She is not from this place," Mithros declared. "She is not welcome here."

"She saved my life; she is always welcome here!" the Guardian boomed hotly.

"You're going to send me back?" Tosh demanded once the echoes of the Guardian's statement had died, sounding both frightened and indigent. "After I helped you, you're going to send me back?"

"Let her into the Realms of the Dead, at least," Alanna implored suddenly. "Not back to that place, my Lord Mithros. Don't send her to the darkness. She helped us; we'd've been lost without her."

"The Chaos Queen would've escaped," Daine added, "and the Guardian would have been trapped. We needed her."

There was a silence. Jack gripped Ianto's arm.

"Yes," Tosh whispered and then repeated it, more strongly. "Yes. Send me to your Realms of the Dead. You owe me. I helped catch your Chaos. You—you must owe me for that."

"You do," growled the Guardian. "I would have remained trapped. Do not send her back to that terrible place, my cousins."

More silence. And then, "Brother. I desire to do this thing." The Black God was watching Tosh from under his hood. "The darkness beyond my realm is unbearable, and by ancient law indeed we owe her."

"Very well," Mithros muttered, sounding almost sullen. The Black God raised his palm, and with a smile to Jack and Ianto, Toshiko began to fade.

"It's been the best," she told them both softly, earnestly, before she vanished.

"Yeah," Jack whispered.

The Guardian bowed. "And now, sons and daughters of my brother and sister, I take my leave. These affairs are out of my hands. I ask only that you go gently on those that my saviors love, if only because I would like to see them unhurt. Farewell."

There were numerous calls of "Farewell, Uncle," and the Guardian of the Gates disappeared.

"And now," the Goddess said, turning to Jack. "The hard part."

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_What have you done?_

"I looked into the TARDIS and the TARDIS looked into me."

_You looked into the Time Vortex, Rose, no one's meant to see that!_

But She is. For the Bad Wolf, only one moment exists, one moment and all of time. It does not play over; it exists once, and for all eternity.

She sees the Universe and the man who stands fixed in the center: Jack Harkness must live and he must always live.

But, sometimes, he should not hurt. She cannot fix her beloved Doctor, but maybe she can help mend her Jack. She broke him first, after all.

She will send him away. After the horror, after the death that must happen, after the most atrocious act that will break him all over again, she will send him to a place that will fix him. And she will give him a gift. Reality bends and somewhere a creature called Father Universe screams as she forces her will upon him.

"Everything must come to dust. All things. Everything dies," she threatens, and pushes a Guardian away to let Jack through.

The Bad Wolf is not a god. She is beyond gods. She is beyond worlds, and she is beyond stars and she is certainly beyond Chaos. She has no jurisdiction—the word does not apply. She can see everything, and everything obeys her will, in the end. Even gods.

And, in this moment, in every moment, she wants to help her friends, because she loves her friends. Even if, in this moment, in every moment, she tortures them.

Jack Harkness will not die. But, she thinks as she takes the fabric of reality and the hearts and minds of the children of that Father Universe and _twists_, perhaps he will not always be alone.

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Almost done, everyone! Please leave a review : )


	25. Chapter 24

Quite a lot of thanks for this chapter must be given to PARAXENOS, who helped straighten out the massive issues that used to be here. Much better, now : ) Thank you so much; you're awesome!

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"The easy part, I should think," Ianto snapped and then yelped when Rikash cuffed him soundly. Ianto gaped, putting his hand to his cheek and staring when it came away red. Those steel feathers, now substantial, were sharp. This apparently came as a surprise to Jack's lover, and Alanna gave a little sigh. She summoned up her healing magic. Luckily, she'd had time to recover from the disaster with the Nepthalae.

"I'm tied to you," Rikash growled, strange red marks appearing on his cheek to mirror the cuts on Ianto's. "If you do something stupid and get killed, then I get killed, too. Let's keep our lives, shall we?"

"Yes, I like that idea," Jack muttered. He reached to touch Ianto's bleeding face in concern but at Ianto's glare he pulled back. Ianto swiped at his cheek, smearing the blood. Alanna glanced at him and walked over. She figured that he, like Jack, would have little to no experience with the Gift, so she smiled as she offered a hand that glowed. Ianto's eyes widened and he looked at her suspiciously.

"She's a healer," Jack explained with a grateful smile to Alanna. Ianto gave her an odd look, but let her heal him. The red marks on Rikash's face disappeared as Alanna healed the cuts on Ianto's cheek.

"If I may interrupt?" the Graveyard Hag mocked, brandishing her staff. "Uncle Mithros, Lord of Sun and Shield," she said grandly, voice far stronger than her form would suggest. She pointed an accusing finger to Jack. "This one defies the natural order of the world. He is immortal; he breathes life back into himself each time he is destroyed. He brings aliens from other worlds to make our Father ill; he openly defies us. I request we throw him out beyond our Father's reach and watch him drift in space."

Alanna gasped and George came up behind her to put a supportive hand on her shoulder.

"No!" Ianto called, and Rikash rolled his eyes. "You owe me a favor, don't you? Send me back to the darkness, if you have to. Spare him."

"Don't you _dare, _Ianto Jones," Jack snarled, reaching forward to grasp the other man's arm. "I lost you once; I won't do it again!"

"As his bonded brother, I refuse," Rikash stated mildly. Ianto spluttered indigently at him.

"It is a possibility," the Goddess said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. Alanna made a small dismayed sound in her throat. George squeezed her shoulder once, supportively. She'd been married to him long enough to know what he was trying to communicate: _the Goddess may be your patron, but that doesn't mean she's nice. _

Alanna touched his hand to show that she understood. She just didn't like it.

"And look how it hurts him," the Hag purred gleefully, earning glares from Daine, Jack and Ianto. The other mortals, mindful of the Hag's status, averted their eyes, although Alanna felt her face turn red from fury, and George and Numair both held themselves stiffly, clenching their fists. Kitten hissed from where Numair was holding her.

"If I may request audience on behalf of our friend?" Alanna interrupted politely, no longer able to quietly watch her friend's punishment. She shrugged off George's hand and strode past Ianto and Rikash to stand next to Daine and Jack defiantly. George followed behind her without hesitation and Numair, who had been beside Daine from the beginning, determinedly took the wildmage's hand. Jack stared and shook his head slowly in denial but the mortals ignored him.

"Speak then, my daughter," the Goddess said softly, green eyes turned to Alanna, who swallowed once and then began.

"I address the statement that holds Jack responsible for the aliens," said the knight, crossing her arms uncomfortably but projecting her voice so she at least sounded confident. "I should like to state that this is hardly his fault, and with the Guardian back in place," here she nodded to the place where the Guardian had stood before he vanished, "that will not happen anymore."

"We refer to the holes torn in Father Universe's very body," the Goddess told her vassal with surprising gentleness, "by those disgusting creatures."

"But it was necessary!" Daine protested, still gripping Numair's hand. "If we hadn't done that, we'd've never been able to bring the Guardian back! How can you expect Jack to fetch him without crossing Realms?"

"We were hoping he would find another way," Mithros replied dryly.

"Such as?" Jack asked. "No, seriously, I really would like to know how you thought—"

"You requested ten favors," Mynoss interrupted, his voice matter of fact. "You could have used those."

"You never made that clear!" Daine scolded and Kitten, in Numair's other arm, shrilled in agreement.

"_Veralidaine!_" reprimanded Weiryn, Daine's father, in response to her tone and Numair jostled Kitten in his arm, quieting her. Alanna swallowed again. Only Daine would have the audacity to yell at the Great Gods, she thought with fond exasperation.

"It was as clear as we could make it," Mithros growled.

_-Forgive me, my brother,- _Gainel stepped in quietly, and the Sun God glared at him.

"Yes?" he asked, sounding surprised.

_-The action was sudden. The dead mortals of Harkness' world had found the Guardian and he was dying, caught in the dead space; when Owen Harper came to me with the news that the aliens could stride across worlds I did not think twice. I permitted the transaction.— _The Dream God gave an apologetic shrug. George's hand, which had been resting on Alanna's shoulder, suddenly tightened with hope.

"You would defend Harkness?" growled the Hag. Ianto shifted his weight uncomfortably and Jack clenched his fists, but said nothing.

_-I remain with one foot in Chaos, niece,- _Gainel remarked mildly. _–I do not defend him for the sake of himself, to be sure, but for the sake of truth.— _Here he inclined his head to Mynoss. _ –I am as much at fault for this particular transaction as he is. Forgive me. –_

"You will be confined to your realms for a hundred years as punishment," Mynoss stated. The judgment had no cruelty in it, but it had a note of finality to it as well.

_-Am I still permitted to visit the dreams of mortals?—_Gainel asked meekly.

"He meant well, my brother," Mithros muttered.

"Indeed. Visit dreams, but do not involve yourself in heavy mortal affairs. You are regulated to commoners and not nobles, for your allotted time," Mynoss replied mildly, as though stating the weather.

Gainel bowed deeply and then vanished, presumably to go back to his realms.

"Anything else you would like to add?" the Hag sneered at Alanna. "Before we jettison Harkness out into space?"

Ianto spluttered a protest, and Jack clamped down, hard, on his arm. "Hush." Jack threw a wide-eyed glance to Alanna, who felt a surge of panic. For a brief, horrifying moment, nothing came to mind.

"If I may speak?" Numair asked quietly, stepping forward. Alanna would have thanked the gods for Numair's quick thought, whatever it may be, but they – all of them—were standing before her. She tried not to think about it. "Clearly, you're displeased with him." He jerked his head a little to Jack. "And apparently his presence makes the Lord Father Universe ill, as do the weevils, which slice holes in the world." Numair looked a little ill himself at the thought. "However, should you send Jack away, we would be unable to deal with the remaining weevils left."

"They follow him," Mynoss stated. "Would they not leave if he left as well?"

"No," Ianto said, sounding almost surprised. "They wouldn't. If there's a stable source of food, they'd stay."

"Or if they did leave," Alanna added, taking the argument and running with it, "they'd cut up more holes."

There was a silence and a low murmur began to arise amongst the assembled gods. "What do you suggest, then?" the Mother Goddess asked. The other gods fell silent, watching.

"Jack is the only one who knows how to deal with the weevils," Alanna replied, thinking fast. "Allow him to stay; give him another chance. He can hunt them for you."

"Ianto Jones knows," the Dark God whispered from his corner. George's hand tightened anxiously on Alanna's shoulder.

"Ianto Jones _won't,_ unless Jack's here," Ianto snapped. Rikash rolled his eyes in exasperation. Alanna wanted to cheer. She hardly knew this beloved of Jack's, but with that statement, he'd just won her wholehearted approval.

"Would you hold your tongue?" the Stormwing hissed, but Ianto glared at him.

"Don't get yourself killed over me_ again_," Jack whispered, pained. He was glancing from Ianto to the Tortallans, looking as though he could not quite believe his eyes. _"Please."_

"The Guardian will guard the Gates," George continued quietly from where he stood behind Alanna. "And the Father of the Universe will heal. Jack an' Ianto over there can take care of the ones that are already here, and get your favor back."

"You speak well," Mithros said after there was a moment's silence. He looked down his nose at the small cluster of mortals. They all stood tall and firm, although Alanna felt her insides tremble under the god's assessing stare. Even still, part of courage was feeling fear without acting on it. She did not move and held her chin up defiantly. "Why so intent on Harkness's place in our world?"

"He is our friend," Alanna answered firmly. She heard Jack swallow in response to her irrefutable statement.

There was no way she was going to leave that man to rot in space, she thought furiously. No way.

"There is a great deal we can learn from him, I think," Numair added quietly.

"And it's not fair to send him out of our universe to roam, not when he's helped us so much," Daine amended loyally.

"I haven't helped you at all," Jack muttered, but Ianto bumped his shoulder.

"With all due respect, sir," he said, eyes glittering, "I would not have worked to get the Guardian back, if it did not mean helping you."

"You do realize that Torchwood literally blew up?" Jack told him in response, eyes softening. "You don't actually have to call me 'sir' anymore."

"I never had to call you 'sir.'" Ianto smiled at him cheekily and Alanna saw Jack melt a little. She suddenly wanted to protect her friend from all the hurts in the world; he would never be lonely again, not if she had anything to say about it.

"Can't hurt to have a man with powerful knowledge an' the strength to do his duty in debt to us, can it?" George added quietly. The Trickster in the corner grinned brightly.

"There is a place for him in Pirate's Swoop," Alanna said over her husband, disliking his words but understanding why he was speaking them – anything to give them a reason to keep Jack around. She spared a pleading look at the Goddess. "We will make sure he—gets rid of the weevils for you."

"We want him as a pet," George put in mildly, shooting a glance at the Trickster.

"Is this a favor, Cooper?" the god asked dryly.

"Not on your life," George growled, and the Trickster cackled.

"A _pet_?" Jack asked incredulously, and Alanna shot him a 'just play along' look. Ianto, she noticed, was suppressing a snicker.

"We are not pleased with this arrangement," Mithros growled. "And we want the weevils destroyed. Not held in a box," he added, holding out Jack's storage receptacle, which held the Queen of Chaos captive, "we want them _dead_, Harkness."

"But what of the Dark God?" Jack asked, nodding to the hooded figure. "He'll have them in his realms, then."

"They go to the darkness," the Dark God said quietly. "They are not permitted in my realms."

Ianto and Rikash shivered uncomfortably.

"Jack's presence in return for the weevils," Daine said quietly, frowning unhappily. "What would you do otherwise?"

"I would hunt them," the Goddess said flatly.

"As would I," Weiryn agreed.

"So this is one less thing on your to-do list," Jack muttered. "Fine. I'll take that bargain."

"And what will we do with Queen Uusoae, brother?" asked the Dark God, with a nod to the box that Mithros held.

The Graveyard Hag scowled. "Wait," she spat. "We're not finished here, father! You still haven't punished Harkness."

"How do you punish an immortal man?" Jack asked, voice dark and full of self-loathing. Alanna shared an uneasy look with George. She heard Ianto hiss a little in protest.

"—without punishing us," Rikash put in dryly, and Ianto snapped something intelligible that the Stormwing ignored.

The hall went silent.

"A wanderer," whispered Mynoss into the quiet. His voice echoed weirdly in the open space. "The Lone Wolf."

"Protected by the Bad Wolf," Mithros growled.

"The Face of Boe," added Shakith the All-Seer quietly. "But that must come later. I will place a curse on you, Jack Harkness, if my brother Mithros will allow it." Here he rose to stand and spoke grandly, his blind eyes fixed on Jack. "You will stay in the country of Tortall for a thousand years, forbidden to wander the stars or the rest of the planet. Should you leave, or should my brother cast you out—" here he nodded to Mithros, "I will change you; I would use my magic to transform your body and mind so that it will be unrecognizable; even if you should die and be reborn, you would not regain the form to which you have become accustomed. Does this fit, my brother?" He looked at Mithros.

"So we're stuck with him for a thousand years?" the Graveyard Hag cried furiously.

"Perhaps," Shakith said quietly.

"Five hundred," Mithros boomed. "I want him to leave after five hundred, my brother. A thousand is just as maddening to us as it would be to him. And then I want him _gone._" He glared.

"Very well. Should you return after the allotted five hundred years, I will do the same, Jack Harkness."

Jack gave a little salute. "Right then. That's it?"

The Graveyard Hag growled softly, but said nothing.

"It is a pity that you cannot die," the Dark God stated mildly. "Although perhaps, I should think of it as a blessing. Brother, I believe it is time for us to discuss our wayward sister Uusoae, and that is not a thing for mortals or even Immortals to witness. Where is Veralidaine's guardian?"

"Right where we left him, I should think," growled Daine's father.

_-Here,- _the badger waddled out from where he had been sitting under a fountain. _–And just because I did a favor for you doesn't mean I'm a _pet_, you horned nuisance.—_

Weiryn huffed but he beckoned his daughter and Daine moved away from Numair to say her farewells to her parents.

"You again," Jack muttered unhappily.

Kitten chattered a scolding to Jack and wriggled out of Numair's grasp. The mage muttered a muffled curse of surprise as the dragon escaped. She trotted up to the badger god, warbling a greeting.

_-I am to escort you back,- _the badger said, looking at the small cluster of assembled mortals. _–Since this little one's grandfather forbade the Great Gods to do it. — _He gave Kitten a friendly swipe with his claw that she easily dodged. _– It will take rather more power than I would be capable of alone, but they will help me, just this once. _– He indicated the Great Gods and then turned to Jack. _-You'll want to be careful, Harkness. They're not pleased,— _he added._ – Come, Kit,- _he beckoned Daine. The wildmage gave her mother one last kiss on the cheek, her father one last hug, and then walked over to them.

"Hello, Badger," she smiled.

_-Greetings, my kit,- _the badger said warmly, and the world faded to black.


	26. Chapter 25

The first thing that Jack noticed was that something nudged him, hard, between the shoulder blades. He stumbled, staggering, and only Ianto's quick reflexes kept him from falling. The younger man gripped his elbow and Jack caught his breath, grinning at him. Ianto's slow smile in reply was enough to make Jack beam.

Something nudged him again.

"What the—" Jack said, reluctantly shaking Ianto off and turning.

Red's black and white face was staring at him in the bright, bright daylight, ears flat back, glaring down his nose. They were back in their campgrounds, Jack realized, where the weevils had opened the gates. It was mid-afternoon, or it looked it anyway, and it was bright enough that the leaves of the trees did not block out the light; instead they turned the forest green and gold, and yellow beams spilled past the lush leaves. The birds were singing wild, beautiful songs, and small animals rustled and hid at their sudden appearance. The forest was _alive, _so much so that it seemed to breathe, and it was beautiful. Jack reached out to pat Red's nose affectionately. The horse huffed at him, glaring, but Jack only smiled. He glanced at Ianto beside him, looking around in wonder, and he wanted to laugh in triumphant joy.

"It's beautiful," Ianto murmured, and Jack beamed at him.

"-Yes, I know," Daine was telling Cloud loudly, "it's not exactly something I can help!" Jack looked over and saw Cloud baring her teeth at the wildmage and he couldn't stop another beaming grin. The pony was clearly scolding her, just as Red was still glaring at him. Numair was standing sheepishly next to Daine, Spots watching him with accusing eyes, and Alanna and George were off to the side, speaking in low voices.

_-Hush.— _That was the badger, and everyone turned to face it, even Red, although the dappled gelding was still huffing indignantly at Jack's back. Ianto stood uneasily at his side and Jack wanted to crush him close, or at least take his hand. _–You disobeyed Mithros' order, and the Great Gods are displeased with you,—_ it stated, looking Jack dead in the eye. Jack scowled. Way to ruin his good mood, he thought, starting to get tired of the scolding. But Red's warmth at his back seeped slowly into his bones and Ianto's presence at one side and his friends on the other brought back the warm glow of earlier. The badger's words were inconsequential; The day was bright and beautiful and Jack had just gotten his world back; there was nothing the animal could say that would diminish it. _–However,- _the badger continued_, - I asked you a personal favor, Jack Harkness, and you succeeded in doing that. Therefore, I do believe that I owe you for it.—_

"You—what?" Jack asked, utterly thrown. "When did that happen?"

_-I told you that there were terrible things to come in this realm. Allow me a little exaggeration. However, you did as I asked: you kept my kit and her mate safe.—_ The big black and white animal nodded to Daine and Numair.

"You bargained with the badger to keep us safe?" Daine asked incredulously, staring at him.

"You know, I did tell you that you would want to watch bargains made with gods," George said wryly.

"I'll remember it for next time," Jack replied sarcastically. "But you're right," he added to the badger, still surprised. "I did."

_-And so in return,- _the badger huffed, _ -I give you a gift. Lord Rikash and Ianto Jones would have the mortal's natural lifespan, under the Graveyard Hag's decree, as she is most displeased with you. They are bonded together; I cannot change this. However I can reverse it: I can give Ianto Jones and Lord Rikash the Stormwing's lifespan, instead. Do you accept?—_

Jack stared at the badger, elation growing in his chest. "That's—forever. Rikash is an Immortal."

"Unless he's killed," the Stormwing put in dryly. "But yes. I like the sound of this bargain, Harkness."

"It's up to you," Jack said, turning to Ianto with wide eyes. "I can only stay here for five hundred years—that's a drop in the bucket when you're immortal. You won't need to stay with me, of course—I wouldn't wish immortality on anyone—"

Ianto regarded Jack for a long moment. "It isn't true immortality," he said slowly. "I could still die."

"That's the only reason I'm even _considering_ it," Jack told him softly, heart pounding. "It isn't all hearts and flowers, immortality. It's lonely. Everyone dies."

"I'll have you," Ianto replied softly. Jack swallowed.

"And when I'm gone?" he insisted, "I don't know if you'll be able to leave this planet. And I don't want you obligated to me, Ianto Jones. I told you once that I don't like the word 'couple.' I was a very bad husband, once upon a time." His expression belied his words, though; his eyes were fixed on Ianto, as though there were nothing else in the world and he leaned into him, just a little, just enough. Jack could hear nothing over his own heartbeat and see nothing but Ianto's eyes, brought back from the dead. Ianto, who had died in his arms and broken his heart, alive again.

Maybe alive forever. But he mustn't force it, Jack thought with painful hope. Immortality is cruel and miserable and lonely. Ianto shouldn't accept.

"I have this fool, don't I?" Ianto said, deadpan, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Rikash, who squawked indignantly. "I won't be alone, Jack. And I'll still be able to die."

"There are things I have to tell you," Jack whispered as grief suddenly hit him like a tidal wave. Ianto should know—before he committed himself to stay, he should know Jack's crimes. "About—about the Four-five-six. How I got rid of them—Ianto—"

"Later," Ianto murmured, stepping forward and touching Jack's arm. "You can tell me later. You _will_ tell me later." He glanced down at the badger. "I accept this bargain," he added softly. "If—if Jack wants it."

Jack took a breath and nodded. He heaved a disbelieving, tearful laugh and cupped Ianto's cheeks in both his hands. Ianto gave a little, encouraging smile. Jack heaved another croaking laugh, leaned forward and kissed him fiercely, and then grasped him in a desperate hug.

"Welcome to Tortall, Ianto Jones," Jack whispered joyfully into his ear, as the badger worked his magic. "You're going to hate it here."

And he kissed him again as white light surrounded them, and the Tortallans cheered.

Somewhere, somewhen, the Bad Wolf collapsed into her Doctor's arms, a job well done.

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**THE END**

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Endnote: And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is that! I told you the ending was happier this time :D Whew! I can't believe it's over! This and Guardian are my longest and best stories to date, and I'm quite proud of them. Thank you all so much for coming along for the ride – I had a blast, and hope you did too! A last shout out to my faithful reviewers – you all totally rock, thank you so, so much! You made the grueling process of editing and fixing errors worthwhile.

This universe is so not over, don't you worry – Jack and Ianto have quite a few adventures to come in Tortall. Look forward to a series of one shots called Tales of Tortall in the crossover section, which will be posted erratically, I'm afraid, as it's not so much a cohesive story as many little stories. They're all about what happens next – Jack and Ianto are going to go back to Corus, spend a bit of time in Pirate's Swoop – Jack did say he was going to work on Alanna's gate, and there are still those weevils to take care of, never mind that Jack still has to come clean about Steven. This summer, if I have time, I'm going to try to write another story set during Page, Squire or Lady Knight, as both Jack and Ianto will have particular hatred for those killing machines – given that they bear similarities to Cybermen, and contain the souls of murdered children. It's just too perfect. So this isn't the last of me!

But anyway, please drop a review, because I love, love, love to hear from you all. Thank you so much for reading my story!


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